ronv 



Santaustan 



JK-ffissidSjaSijasaiSSi: 










Missiaaatxj, 




I=»ut>n?sh€<i by 

Oen LiLitherske IVIissionoer 

324S IT. Ave S, 

IVIinneapoIis, IVlinn, 

1©13. 



4-- 



?i 




M 






FOREWORD. 



The author of these sketches is not laboring under the il- 
lusion that this booli has been looked for and expected for a 
long time, and that it now, at last, comes to fill a "long felt 
want." The world has gotten along so far without any "Sketch- 
es from Santalistan" and would likely manage to plod along to 
the end of time without even missing them. lie has written 
them because he liked to write them. 

These sketches have been written from time to time during 
a period of eight years and some of them have been published 
in various papers and rewritten for this volume. They are 
written especially for the young people in our Scandinavian 
Lutheran Churches, and not only for those young in years, but 
for everybody with a young heart. 

The aim has been to bring a missionary's daily life and 
labors as well as the people among whom he works a little 
closer to the friends in the home-lands and, if possible, also to 
kindle a little more interest in the greatest of all causes. Mis- 
sions. 

M. A. P. 








THE GATE OF INDIA. 



The Indian ocean was dull. Dark and oily lay the wa- 
ters with only a slight swell. There was no -wind nor waves 
for it was October, and the monsoon was over. Slowly the 
hot days and even hotter nights crept by. On leaving Aden 
you begin to notice a change both in yourself and in others. 
The manners and customs of the West are being left be- 
hind and now, unconsiously perhaps, one begins to pick 
up the .ways of the East. 

Sedate and elderly gentlemen, whom you learned to 
know while in the Mediterranean as propriety incarnate, 
can now be seen walking the decks in the early mornings, 
barefoot and attired only in striped pajamas. 

It is the spirit of the East. You fight against it to be- 
gin with. You swelter in the privacy of your cabin and count 
the bells till dawn, when you dress and get on deck. There 
you find your fellow passengers on their mattresses fast 
asleep, their bare feet sticking out from under their cover- 
ings, catching the sea-breeze, which gives them an air of cool 
comfort that you did not enjoy in your hot and stuffy cab- 
in. Consequently, next evening you break with the tradi- 



8 SKETCHES FROM SANTA LI STAN, 

tions of the progressive West and fall into the ways of the 
strange and mysterious eastern world. You bring your 
mattress on deck, robe yourself for the night and go to 
sleep under the starlit eastern sky. Whether it is the 
languor of the tropics or the influence of the mysterious 
spirit of the East, you cannot tell, but you feel a sense of 
security and calm ; a sort of homelike feeling takes poses- 
sion of you as if you had at last come to your own. Fan- 
ned by the soft sea-breeze you close your eyes and doze and 
dream and rest. You are "east of Suez" and the East has 
conquered you. That mysterious world of which it is said 
that it is never quite awake by day and never quite asleep at 
night, has made you one of her own. 

You watch the flying fishes skip the surface of the 
Cjuiet water as the crimson curtains of the morning are 
drawn aside and the sun appears out of the sea, a great ball 
of yellow fire. It is your last day on shipboard. Before 
noon the hazy outlines of the mountains, known as the 
Ghats, can be traced through your fieldglass, and as the 
day declines your good ship is at anchor in the harbor of 
Bombay, the western gate of the Indian Empire. 

On landing you fall headlong, as it were, into the lap of 
her. who has adopted you, the eastern world. It is a world 
entirely different from anything you have so far seen and 
experienced. You have nothing to compare it with. It 
feels like a dream, indescribable, wierd, and complex like 
the spinning dance of a Dervish. 

Everything about you is now different ; even the most 
common things are changed — different clothes, different 
food, different mealtimes. You begin to realize that you 
are called upon to begin a new life in this new world. 

At first everything seems blurred and out of focus. 
You try to notice everything and you see nothing. You ask 



THE GATE OF IxN^DIA. 9 

an assistant in the custom office to get a drayman to take 
your baggage to your hotel. He beckons to a chocolate 
colored, almost naked man squatting near by and gives him 
a command in a strange tongue. In a few moments the 
man returns, bringing up a ridiculous two-wheeled cart, 
drawn by a pair of small gray oxen, each with a funny 
looking hump on its shoulders, and short stubby horns 
painted a bright red. 

Your room is on the second floor of the hotel. There 
are no windows in it, but many doors, the most of which 
lead out to the open veranda. As you sit down to try to 
gather your scattered wits and to get used to your sur- 
roundings, a crow, the color of blue steel, settles on the 
veranda railing, lays its head on one side, as if to inspect 
you, and when, as it seems, it has found you an object 
worthy of observation, it at once summons its compatriots 
to share in the new discovery. In a moment there is a 
dozen crows on the railing busy discussing you, your fami- 
ly, your baggage, and everything about you with the great- 
est impunity. You may try to drive them away, but they 
only move a foot or two, and their vociferous remarks 
grow more personal and impertinent. 

As you watch them, you begin to remember what you 
have read about the transmigration of souls. While at 
home you put the idea aside as childish nonsense, but 
when you look at the crows and their impudent bearing, 
you must admit that you are filled with an uncanny feeling 
of doubt. Perhaps after all there is such a thing as trans- 
migration, and that these little bodies are inhabited by the 
souls of Hindus, who in former existance earned the pun- 
ishment of being reincarnated as crows. 

You are taken to the bazaar. You pass down narrow 
and crooked lanes thronged with people attired in all kinds 



lU SKETCHES FllOM S.-VNTALISTAN. 

nf strange garl)s. The stores or shops, as the}- are called 
are only little stalls where the merchants sit tailor fashion 
with their goods laid out on the floor ahont them. And the 
dust, the smells, the clouds of flies and other insects, the 
sliouting and vociferous jahhering of the people, the gor- 
geous mixture of colors, of silk and rags, — all go to make 
up a picture both strange and fascinating. 

A drive to Malebar Hill in the cool of the evening you 
will never forget. The Parsees, sometimes called the Jews 
of the East, live there. The hill is one luxurious garden 
with beautiful bungalows, half hidden by tropical flowers 
and trees. 

As you drive along, enjoying the sights, so strange and 
beautiful, your guide points out to you a low, round, roof- 
less tow^er set in the middle of a large park gorgeous with 
blossoming trees, shrubs and creepers. It is the "Tower of 
Silence." To it the Parsees carry their dead and leave them 
to be devoured by vultures. And as you look you will 
notice that the tower l is literally fringed with those birds 
of prey. They are perched there quietly waiting for their 
next meal. 

The Tower and the repulsive idea connected with it 
sends a shudder through you. For the rest of the evening 
you see and enjoy nothing. Slowly the sun dips into the 
Indian ocean. All Bombay comes out for a promenade and 
a breath of sea-breeze along the beach. The sunset sky, 
the passing rows of beautiful vehicles and the people in 
their bright colored clothes, all go to make up a picture 
which would charm even the most weary globe-trotter, but 
you hardly see it. In vain you try to rid yourself of that 
repulsive picture of the gorged and sleepy vultures in that 
beautiful garden. 

In time you will learn that even this is the ''Spirit of 



TJIE GATE OJ.^^ INDIA. 



11 



the East." In the midst of a beauty, almost supernatural, 
there is a vulture crowded "Tower of Silence," or a horrid 
something, standing out prominently, and unl)lushingly 
casting its dark shadow of horrors across this fairest scene. 
You can but turn to Ilim, wdio knows the inmost yearnings 
of your soul, and pray that you may be permitted to con- 
tribute vour little mite towards the removal of all that, 
which mars the fair picture of the fair East. 




MISSION CHURCH AT BENAGARIA. 




SANTALISTAN. 



Santalistan is not an official name. You will not find 
it on the map. The name is applied colloquially to the 
district in northern Bengal where the Santals live. 

If you take a map of India and find Calcutta, the old 
capital of the Empire, you will notice that the river Ganges 
bends to the west about a hundred and fifty miles north of 
that city. This bend is generally called the elbow of the 
Ganges. 

Santalistan is part of the country lying in the elbow of 
that famous river. 

The official name of the main part of Santalistan is 
Santal Parganas. It has an area of about 4800 square miles 
and is nearly as large as the state of Connecticut. 

The Santals are not, however, confined to this district, 
but are scattered about in northern Bengal and Assam. 
Neither are all the people in the Santal Paraganas Santals. 
A great number of the inhabitants are Hindus of the vari- 
ous castes and there are also a large number of Mohamme- 
dans. 

In a certain sense the Santal Parganas has been set 

12 



SANTALISTAN. 



13 



aside for the Santals. Here they receive certain privileges 
from the government and are protected by special laws. 

Santalistan is comparatively high and hilly. One might 
say, perhaps, that it consists of a number of rocky hills 
with stretches of prairie in between them. These hills are 
not very high. Lokhonpur hill. — ■ tlie Santals call it a 




THE VILLAGE POND. 



mountain — has an elevation of but 2311 feet above sea 
level. 

If you feel equal to the exertion and the day is not too 
hot it will pay you to climb it. There are goat paths lead- 
ing up between the boulders. In some places the climb is 
very steep and you will wish you had as many legs as the 
pathmakers. The barefoot Santal boys, however, do not 



U SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

mind it in the least. They skip along like monkeys and 
pity your slow progress, evidently thinking, that you are 
very clumsy on a mountain path. 

At last you have reached the top. You wipe the persjM- 
ration from your brow and look out upon the lovely pano- 
rama spread out before you. Glittering in the sunlight arc 
brooks and rivers meandering through the valleys. It is 
early October and you can still see the water glistening in 
the dark green rice fields, and there are also patches of 
other crops, such as millet and pulse in various shades of 
color, making the plain appear like a great crazy-quilt spread 
out in the sun. 

Here and there you get glimpses of the straw-thatched 
roofs or whitewashed walls of a village. It is a scene so 
full of peace and beauty that it captivates you. It is like 
a beautiful dream and you forget the fleeting hours. The 
sun is sinking. From the hillside below you the evening 
breeze wafts up to you the melancholy notes of a shepherd's 
flute as he wends his way homeward with his flock. A last 
lingering look and you come away enriched with memories 
that will remain with you as long as life. You have had a 
glimpse of a bit of Santalistan. 

The hills are wooded to the very top. On the highest 
slopes one will find the hill-bamboo, tall, straight and grace- 
ful, its thin feathery leaves hanging fringe-like from, its 
branches and c|uivering in the smallest breeze. There is 
the stately edcl, or Indian cotton tree, and further down 
towards the foot you will find the tall and straight sarjon 
or sal, the sacred tree of the Santals. AMiile scattered about 
on hillside and i)lain, among the rice fields and about llie 
village grows the sturdy malkon tree. The flo\ver of this 
tree is eaten by the people and is (fuite nourishing. 

The Santals arc clcarers of land, diggers and grul)- 



SANTALISTAN. 



15 



bers. It seldom occurs to them to plant trees, but they cut 
them and clear them away. For that reason there is very 
little timber or jungle left in the Santal country. Only 
where protected by the forest department of the Govern^ 
ment, patches of jungle remain. Of course, there are a 
few shade trees about the villages ; otherwise, compared tO' 
other parts of India the country must be said to be rather 
treeless. 

The soil is sandy and rather poor compared with the 
rich alluvial of the Gangetic plain; but if it receives suffi- 
cient rain will produce good crops. The lowlands or val- 
leys are made into rice fields, while the higher land yields 
corn, small grain and oilseeds. Some land in each village 
is set aside for grazing purposes and there is very little 
waste land. 

Coal is found in several places, but in the Santal Parga- 
nas it is of a rather inferior quality and very little use is 
found for it. Iron ore is found quite abundantly, and there 
are also traces of other metals, such as lead and mica. 

About the climate of Santalistan you will be able to 
form an idea when ^'ou learn that it lies about as far north 
of the equator as the island of Cuba. 



mmm 






i<^iiii^'iiiitiiiii(^^;;<#^ 




LEARNING THE LANGUAGE. 



You will soon discover that it is more work than play 
to learn a new language, when you are getting on in years, 
especially a language so intricate as Santali. 

Very often you get discouraged. With twenty-seven 
tenses of the verb and many other intricacies entirely for- 
eign to all your ideas of what language ought to be, you 
sometimes feel, that it is no use trying; you might as well 
give up first as last. But when you hear a little Santal boy, 
as yet not old enough for a loincloth, chattering away in 
Santali, as if it were the only language in the world, you 
take courage and push on anew. When that little boy 
could learn to speak Santali, why cannot you? 

Santali is printed in Roman characters, which is a de- 
cided advantage for you. Most of the Indian languages are 
printed in characters of their own. And yet you will find 
that though you know the letters by sight you do not know 
them by sound. The first letter in the alphabet, for instance, 
has four distinct sounds, each indicated by diacritical marks. 
A few letters represent sounds peculiar to the Santal lang- 
uage, and these, a European can pronounce only fifter long 
and diligent practice. 

16 



LEARNING THE LANGU.\GE. 17 

First you get the rudiments of the grammar and some 
drilling in pronounciation ; then you learn to say. "Chet 
kana?" (what is that?) Armed with this magic phrase 
you go out into the villages among the people. You point 
at a tree and say: "Chet kana?" 

Dignity must be thrown aside, you must take lessons 
from everybody. You have to play the natural role of an 
ignoramus running about asking for the names of the most 
common objects; and when you hear them and try to twist 
your tongue around those almost inhuman sounds you of- 
ten fail most pathetically. But your efforts amuse the 
people. ]\Iany a hearty laugh they get at your expense. 
And they do not wait until you are out of the way, but 
laugh straight in your face. But you soon learn to laugh 
with them. So much, at least, you know, that laughing 
and crying is expressed in the same way the world over. 

And all the blunders you will make ! I am sure you 
would laugh yourself blue in the face if I told you some of 
mine, but I will not ; I know how to keep secrets. 

You struggle on with the few words and phrases you 
have learned and eke them out with profuse gestures un- 
til you manage to make yourself understood ; and when the 
people find that you are in earnest about learning their 
language, they vie with one another in their efforts to help 
you on. 

It is often dificult to get a good native teacher. The 
common fault of native teachers is that they try to explain 
things to you loquaciously and usually manage to get you 
so tangled up in their explanations that you get entirely 
bewildered. Women and children are the best teachers. 
They speak more slowly and as a rule, more distinctly than 
men, and, besides, they do not try to explain so much. 

How glad you are, when you at last have got so far, 



18 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

tliat yon can carry on a simple conversation ! Your cour- 
age grows by leaps and bounds. At last you feel tbat you 
can begin to speak a word for Him, whose name you have 
come to proclaim. 

Then your first sermon ! How well you prepare it, 
weigh every statement, and think that this sermon they 
will never forget. Great will be your surprise, when some 
one is honest enough to tell you, that he did not understand 
very much of what you said. Your choice of words and 
your pronounciation may, in the main, have been correct, 
but your way of thinking and presenting the truth is that 
of the West, and therefore foreign to your audience. Again 
off to school you must go. You have to put yourself at 
the feet of, perhaps, an old illiterate Santal and from him 
learn how to preach so, that the people may be able to un- 
derstand you. This is a new field to be mastered and. 
your college and seminary diploma will not help you much. 

The Santal presents a new type of character, entirely 
different from what you are used to. His ways of looking 
at things are not your ways and his ideas are not your 
ideas. If you are to meet in sympathy you must lay aside 
your dignity of learning, if you have any, and get down to 
where he is and fall into his way of thinking and feeling. 
And that can be done only when you possess some of that 
love she had, who said to her mother-in-law : "Thy people 
shall be my people." 




VILLAGE PREACHING. 



Some good people in the homelands seem to think that 
the heathen are just dying- for an opportunity to hear the 
gospel, and that thc}^ have been anxiously looking for 
an invitation to become Christians. But that is far from 
true. It is not true even of the ungodly masses at home. 
They are anxious neither to hear the Gospel nor to come to 
God. It is rather the other way. They try apparently to 
get as far away from God and the infulence of his word 
as posible. For this reason Christian workers at home have 
to go out into the streets and the highways, into the fields 
and shops, and preach to them in order that they may know 
the way of salvation. 

If a missionary comes to the heathen with the idea that 
t-hey are anxiously waiting for him to proclaim the good 
news to them, he will soon know his mistake. This is a 
land where the people for ages and ages have been bound 
by the superstitions of 1 idolatry, and have been taught to 
look with suspicion on everything foreign. Indeed they 
think they can get along very v^eW without both the mis- 
sionary and his preaching. 

The heathen do not come to the missionary, he must 

19 



20 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

go to them. Jn our Santal field it is not vei7 common that 
a non-christian comes to church. If he is to hear the gospel 
at all, it must be preached to him in his own village or 
home. There is where the work of the missionary begins. 

Early in the morning, together with one or more catech- 
ists, the missionary will go aut to the villages. The pariah 
dogs will announce his arrival, and the children playing in 
the streets will shout "Saheb, Saheb!" This helps to ad- 
vertise his meeting and bring out the people. Usually a 
bedstead is brought out into the street and he is asked to 
take a seat. He looks at the bed and if his suspicions are 
aroused be will take up as small a portion of it as possible. 
The village oilpress, or a flat stone under some spreading 
tree, also offers a convenient seat and a good gathering- 
place 

Sometimes however, the missionary is not offered a 
seat at all, but asked to go and preach in the next village. 
Such cases, fortunately, are exceptions — in our district. 
As a rule, the people are polite and greet the Padre Saheb 
or missionary with cordial "johars" and invite him to be 
seated. Even though they do not care so much for what 
he has to say, they enjoy looking at him. Being white, he 
is a curiosity. 

In a little while quite a crowd will gather. The mis- 
sionary will ask all to sit dowai, and they squat on the 
ground — that is, the men and boys do. The women will 
remain standing at a distance. 

The native Christian worker will then sing a song, 
usually gospel words fitted to some of the old Santal tunes. 
Then either the missionary or the cathechist will explain the 
song and invite the people to come to the Savior. After 
reading a few words of Scripture the missionary will be- 
gin to talk. It will not be preaching in the sense in which 



VILLA Cil^] PREACH IXii. 21 

that word is nsctl in the West. Prcacliing here is more in 
the form of a conversation. Everybody is at liberty to make 
remarks, and the more remarks made, the better. 

Religious truth must be presented to them in such a 
form that they can grasp it. The missionary must have 
recourse to parables, pictures and illustrations taken from 
the lives of the people. 

All sorts of objections against Christianity are raised 
and must be patiently met. And the speaker must not let 
himself be distracted if he should hear someone in the 
outskirts of the crowd making sundry remarks on his per- 
sonal appearance, remarks very much like those a visitor at 
the zoo will make about the animal he is looking at. 

One will very seldom now-a-days find a Santal, who 
will try to defend his "Bongas" or gods and his heathen 
worship. On the other hand it is often quite amusing to 
hear these people run down and ridicule their "Bongas." 
"They are a worthless lot," they will say, "that only do us 
harm, and as to helping us, they only help us to spend every- 
thing we have, so that our children often have to go naked 
and hungry." 

''Well, why don't you leave them then?" 

"That is not so easy" they will reply, ''because our fa- 
thers have shown us this way and left us in the power of 
the "Bongas." 

"Xow see here, my friend; if your father had given you 
in service to a certain master, who treated you very cruelly, 
never gave you any pay and never offered you anything to 
eat or to wear, but on the contrary in every possible way 
caused you pain and suffering, would you keep on year 
after year serving such a master? Would you not run 
away from him? I think you would, if you looked to your 
own interests. And here is your real master, your -Savior, 



22 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 

calling:;' yoii to come to him and rest. If von suffer, yon 
liavc no one but yourself to Ijlame ; for Clu^ist lias l)een call- 
ing you, and is calling you again today."" 

Sometimes one will meet people who want to have an 
argument with the missionary. Little, however, is gained 
by arguing. The man, when beaten in argument, will get 
angry and leave in a huff and will most likely become an 
enemy, or else he will laugh and say, "I am no match for 
you in a discussion." 

There are many things to which they can agree. Sin, 
sickness, death and sorrow they all know. They will al- 
M-ays listen to the simple story how God has met our heeds 
and opened a way back to himself for sinful man through 
Jesus Christ. 

At these street meetings the seed is sown broadcast, as 
it were. In some heart, somewhere, some truth will lodge, 
which under God's care some day will bear fruit. 

But in the missionfield, as everywhere else, for that 
matter, it is personal work that counts. Brother dealing 
with brother heart to heart. Sitting on the embankment 
l)etween the ricefields v/ith his single listener the preacher 
will tell the old, old story. At last the listener will say, 
"O yes, I am tired of the "Jiongas.' Since my child died 
I have offered no sacrifices to them. And both my wife 
and I often talk about it, that we should like to become 
Christians. But you know it will be hard for us, as all our 
relatives and friends are heathen." This objection is over- 
come and the family is ready to recieve instruction. Then 
when the main truths of the Christian religion are mastered 
they are baptized. 



.^^n^ 
^u^ 



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31 



VILLAGE SCHOOLS. 



Schools are not the rule among the Santals, but rather 
the exception. Outside of the districts, in which there are 
Christians, who have taken the lead, there are very few di- 
stinctly Santal schools. The common Santal does not think 
it necessary to educate his children. His views on educa- 
tion are expressed in about the following terms: ''Our 
fathers and grandfathers did not know how to read and 
write, we have not learned it, then why should our sons go 
to school and grow up to be idlers. Let them go into the 
fields and work, let them take care of the cattle and goats, 
then they can get something for their stomachs. You can 
not eat paper." 

A few of the non-Christian Santals have however seen 
the advantage of an education and are sending their sons 
to some village school where they learn to read and write 
the Bengali language. An old village headman said; "It 
is a good thing to have one or two in the village able to read 
and write. When we get a summons from the court as 
witnesses or a letter is sent us, then our own boys can tell 
us what the paper says." 

28 



24 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN/ 



Apart from natural sluggishness the PTindn caste system 
is responsible for this state of affairs. For ages and ages 
the Brahmin has carried the burden of education for all 
classes. It was a deadly sin to educate a boy of a low birth ; 
and as for educating women, that was entirely out of the 
question. But western influence and western law has 




A VILLAGE SCHOOL. 



changed all this. Schools are now scattered throughout the 
country, and an opportunity of acquiring an education is 
within the reach of every one. even the poorest Santal. 

Let us take a peep at the typical Santal school. 

You need not look for the school house, for there is 
none. The scholars squat in the village street or in the 
shade of a tree and the schoolmaster, stick in hand, is usu- 



VILLA(iR SCHOOLS. 25 

ally seated on a stool ift their midst. If it is cold, he allows 
his school to find a sunny wall, where they are sheltered 
from the wind. The so-called Manjhithan also offers shade 
and shelter when that is needed. 

But I must tell you what a Alanjhithan is. It is an earth 
platform raised a foot or two above the ground. There are 
five posts, one at each corner and one in the center, support- 
ing a thatched roof. Around the post in 'the center you 
will notice a few pebbles the size of an egg sticking out of 
the earth. In these pebbles the spirits of the departed vil- 
lage headmen dwell, one spirit in each pebble. Under this 
roof the villagers hold their councils and the spirits of the 
departed are supposed to aid them in their deliberations 
and lead them in the paths of wisdom. 

AMien a boy is brought to school the first thing he has 
to learn, according to the opinion of the teacher, is to sit 
still. This is indeed a hard lesson for an active Santal boy, 
but through generous assistance of the master's stick the 
lesson is in time learned and he is ready for advancement. 
He is then given over to one of the bigger boys whO' traces 
a letter in the dust with his finger. This letter the begin- 
ner must retrace times without number, each time shouting 
out the name of that letter at the top of his voice. It is 
quite an entertainment to listen to dozen boys all at once 
"barking" awa}^ at the alphabet in this manner. It reminds 
one of a dog show. 

The teacher will explain to us that this method has a 
great advantage besides that of being old, it teaches reading 
and writing at the same time. He might also add that it 
developes their lungs. 

At last the boy gets a book. And a proud little fellow 
he is as he comes down the village street with his first book 
under his arm securely tied up in an old rag. He is on the 



26 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



bigliroad to learning. Xow liis work begins in earnest. TTe 
has to learn the letters by rote. A few days more of shout- 
ing- and he will be able to read them off from beginning to 
end like a table. But if you take a leaf from the jackfruit 




READY FOR SCHOOL. 



tree close by, make a small hole in the center of it, put it 
on the page of his reader, and move it about so that he can 
see but one letter at the time, you will be surprised to find 
how many he misses. But give him plenty of time — and 



VILLAGE SCHOOLS. 



27 



time is cheap in India — and lie will eventually learn to 
read, write, and do sums on his slate, or on the ground and 
in liis head. 

It is but fair to state, however, that in the schools under 
the supervision of the government or the mission, the above 
described method is getting more and more obsolete. West- 
ern methods and text-books are bringing about a change for 
the better in the old Bengali school system. One thing 
you will not fail to notice in all the village schools, even 
the best and most up to date ones, and that is that all the 
studying is done by reading aloud, and the louder the better. 
A village school can be heard long before it is seen. 







^ ■gr-gr-^ '-^ '^'^'-tt^'tfL'^ i^ '^-^' ^'^ ''^ '-^ ' ■«g*-^'--g'.<g'^ ' £i^i£z£i t^'>^*je*^^' <^->g'>g* .^- j^-^*^*^. jgJa 



^T«. 'i'p^p^p ^!&^t«. ^»«. •&»-«. ^T/J. ^»<. •^»«. ■^t*. ^t^ '^U^ ^f^. Af«. ^»<. .s.?^. ^»«. ^f^. ^fyv ^f/^ 



'iHf^ ^»«. ^T^ ^'^ ^I«. ^T*. ^»^ ^»-«. ^t^ ^f^ ^»^ ^I^ ^T^. ^»^ ^f<. ^1^. ^f^ ^V^ ^l«. ^T«. ^f^ ^»i. 



MODES OF TRAVEL. 



There nre two kinds of people in Santalistan, those Avho 
travel and those who do not. The travelers are again divi- 
ded into two classes, those who travel afoot and those who 
do not. 

Traveling afoot is pretty much the same all the world 
over. It seems to be man's natural way of locomotion, and 
is very likely, as old as the human race. In the West it is 
not popular any longer. No end of machinery and devices 
have been invented by ingenious men to do away with the 
old style of locomotion, but in the conservative East, where 
modes change but slowly it is a very common, if not alto- 
gether a popular, way of getting from one place to another. 

On market days one can see long lines of foot passen- 
gers pass by in single file, some carrying their products 
away to be sold or exchanged, others carrying nothing but 
their sticks. Or if you are near some of the great high- 
ways you can often see pilgrims by the half hundred trudg- 
ing wearily along on their way to some shrine. But we are 
not concerned with them. It is those Avho do not travel 
afoot we are interested in just now. 

28 



MODES OF TRAVEL. 



29 



Bicycles are not very common. Some few years ago 
they were a great curiosity in the eyes of the natives. I 
well remember that once a fellow-worker and I were out 
on a tour. He had a bicycle and I rode a horse. While 
passing from one mission center to another we took what 
we thought would be a short cut through the jungle. As 
we passed through a Santal village some children at play 




CROSSING A STREAM. 



in the street saw us and set up an alarm. At once the whole 
male population of the village turned out and pursued the 
cyclist. Had I not known that they were moved by curiou- 
sity, I should have been alarmed at seeing some twenty 
Santals racing along at top speed chasing after a mission- 
ary. 



30 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

• 

Some Santals were one day standing about a bic3'c1c 
and discussing the question how is was possible for a per- 
son to stay on it without the whole thing upsetting". This 
])henomenon one man undertook to explain in the follow- 
ing way : "You see, it's like this, it's the wind that does 
everything. A bicycle is like a railway engine, except that 
a bicycle is run by wind and an engine by steam. I have 
seen the Saheb every dag, before he starts out, pumping 
wind into the wheels to make them go. If there is no wind 
in the wheels they will not go." 

Horseback riding is quite common, and has the great 
advantage that one can with a good horse get over nearly 
all kinds of roads and even across country .where there are 
no roads at all. The best horses are imi)orted from Au- 
stralia. They are called Walers. But they are costly. As 
a rule a missionary is not overburdened with a great deal 
of this world's goods and therefore cannot buy costly hors- 
es. He must generally be contented with a so-called 
"country tat," that is, a country-bred pony. I possessed 
one of these animals once. It cost me twenty dollars and 
the saddle cost twenty-two. Only by courtesy could it be 
called a horse. It answered literally to a soldier's defini- 
tion of a government mule: "An animal which bites at 
one end and kicks at the other and is extremely uncomfort- 
able in the middle." On various commonplace and practi- 
cal subjects my ''tat" held extremely advanced Opinions 
Avhich no amount of persuasion or argument could shake. 
At last however, we got to understand one another, and, 
by avoiding subjects about which we knew we could not 
agree, we managed to get along quite well. 

Some people have- wdiat they call a "tomtom," a two- 
wheeled cart or gig for one horse. lUit the trouble is that 
in order to get about with those, one must have roads. And 



MODES OP TRAVEL. 



31 



so long as roadmaking and roadrcpairing is as unpopiilar 
among the Santal villagers as it is at the present time, a 
vehicle of that sort will not be of much use. Where one 
has access to the roads built and repaired by the govern- 
ment, the case is different. 

The tika ghari" is a four wheeled carriage, in appear- 




THE TIKA GHARI. 



ance not unlike a Chicago milk delivery wagon, only much 
heavier and clumsier. Perhaps you would get a better idea 
if you imagine a cross between a milk wagon and an ice 
wagon. It is drawn by two native ponies. Each pair of 
])onies runs five or six miles, then it is changed. The ]:)0- 
nics usually go at a galloj), and if the load is not too heavy 



32 KETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

and the road smooth they get over the ground pretty quick- 
ly. But country ponies have minds of their own. Some- 
times they refuse to stir, at least forward. Backwards they 
will go any distance just for the pleasure of spilling both 
the "tika" and its occupant in the ditch. 

When the ponies have once made up their minds, all 
the shouting and whipping and Hindustani abuse fail to 
move them an inch. The driver and conductor, or carriage- 
man, will both have to get down ; calling all the people in 
the neighborhood to help them, they will have to push both 
the ponies and the carriage for some distance until the pon- 
ies get tired of the game and make a new start. Of course 
all this takes time, but in a country where the natives have 
a dozen million re-carnations to look forward to, time is 
of small object. 

For all-around usefulness and, perhaps, also for speed, 
one will find that the bullock-cart is as good as anything 
invented. It is a two-wheeled cart with a cover to it ; in 
appearance it is not unlike a small prairie schooner. The 
cover is made from bamboo matting and is open at both 
ends. Inside there is just room enough for a man to stretch 
out. 

The cart is drawn by two patient hump-shouldered bul- 
locks. On the pole in front of the cart and within easy 
reach of the bullocks' tails the driver is perched. The aver- 
age speed is two miles an hour, but if the driver has a pair 
of good lungs and can shout continually and is persevering 
in twisting the animals' tails the speed may be accelerated 
by an additional half mile per hour. 

If your cart is supplied with springs and the road is 
somewhat smooth, this way of traveling need not be entire- 
ly uncomfortable. At any rate you feel that you get a fair 
training in the virtue of patience. But when the cart is 



MODES OF TRAVEL. 33 

devoid of springs and the road is rough, you have rather 
a hard time of it, being slung from side to side and some- 
times almost standing on your head. In vain you repeat the 
old couplet you learned at school : 

''Now patience is the pill 
That eases every ill." 





BULLOCK CART. 

You begin to imagine that some of your ribs are broken 
and tliat your hip-joints are dislocated, so you get out and 
walk on alicad for some distance and sit down by the road- 
side to wait for your "pullman car" to overtake you. Usu- 
ally one travels by night in bullock-carts, because when one 



34 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

gets used to the shouting and humping one can sleep and 
forget. 

There is yet another quite common way of getting about 
the country, that is to be carried by coohes. Two long bam- 
boo poles are tied one on .each side of an ordinary dining- 
room chair. Seated in this chair four men will carry their 
passenger high in the air, placing the poles on their should- 
ers. There are also chairs called "dandies'" made especially 
for the purpose of carrying people. Some of them can be 
quite comfortable. Then there is the "palke." or palanqnin, 
a box-like affair with a pole sticking out at each end. This 
also is carried by four men. 

At first it rather goes against the grain to be carried by 
your fellowmen. You do not like the idea at all. The only 
cure for that feeling is walking. You follow the men car- 
rying the empty chair for a mile or two, perhaps under the 
hot Indian sun. Little by little you find your scruples van- 
ishing. When the question is reduced to the alternative of 
dying from heat apoplexy far away from home and native 
land, or being carried by some coolies, who are used to 
that kind of work and even make a living by it, then it is 
wonderful how fast one's ideas change and adjust them- 
selves to circumstances. 

Once I had to go to the railway station twenty miles 
away. It was in the rain}^ season. My pony was dead. I 
had no alternative. It was either walk, or get people to 
carry me. 

There was an old "dandy" in the veranda of our bunga- 
low, an heirloom of some kind which a predecessor had 
left. We repaired it a little and thought it would be all 
right to use. I engaged eight carriers so that they might 
change off. and started before daylight. This was my first 
experience of being carried by men. 



MODES OF TRAVEL. 



35 



About seven miles from home, as we were going along' 
at a good rate and I was enjoying the beautiful morning, 
crash went the dand}'. I found myself on my seat of honor 
in the middle of the road with the bearers standing about 
gazing at me in open mouthed astonishment. 

Over the remains of the "dandy" we held a short in- 
quest, the verdict of which was that if we were to get to 




CARRIED IN A DANDY. 



the railway station at all it would not be in this conveyance. 
It was a total wreck. Like the famous "One Horse Shay," 
it went all to pieces and beyond repairs. 

There was a Hindu village near by. We brought the 
wrecked dandy along as evidence and proceeded to the 
house of the village constable. He and his family came out 



36 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



and salaamed. We addressed him. He saw our plight. 
Would he lend us a little bedstead or a stool, or some con- 
trivance, so that we might proceed on our journey? 

O dear no ! he was a poor man and had no beds. Both 
he and his children had to sleep on the floor. We should 
have to excuse him. We might ask the village headman, 




THE PALKE. 



perhaps he was al)le to help us. but as to him, he was so 
very poor ! 

Tlie bearers, howe\-er, \\()ul(l nut take no for an aitswer. 
They entered his yard and returned with a small bedstead 
just suitable for our purpose, and a pair of long poles. 
These things they held up before him while they gave ex- 
l)ression of their opinions, both of the constable and his 



MODES OF TRAVEL. 37. 

forefathers, for not being willing to help a Saheb when he 
was in need. This lecture and a little coin put into his 
palm limbered him up to such a degree that I am sure we 
could have taken all his beds and all his poles. Nothing he 
had was to good for us now. 

We w'ere soon under way again in our new conveyance. 
But I must tell you what a bedstead is. It is a wooden frame 
wdth a post or leg in each corner. Over this framework 
twine is stretched or woven in a clever way and the bed is 
ready. A mat or a blanket is all that is necessary to spread 
over the closel}'-woven bottom to make it quite comfort- 
able. 

A bed is called a "charpoi" in Hindustani. "Char" 
means four and ''poi" means feet. A story is told of a Ben- 
gali babu who was in some sort of government service. 
On being transferred to another location he brought all his 
goods and chattels to the railway station to have them sent 
by train. Besides knowing a little English he had learned 
enough Latin to translate "charpoi" literally. So he put 
on the list of things to be sent, a "Quadruped." He was 
greatly astonished when the European station-master in- 
formed him that animals could not be sent by that train. 

Of course, if one is rich he can keep an elephant. From 
ancient times elephants have been the steeds ot royait)' in 
India. If you are on friendly terms with a rajah in your 
neighborhood he will lend you an elephant now and then. 
Elephant-riding is all right if you do not take too much of 
it at a time. 

Once while out in camp we went to visit a few Chri- 
stian families living back among the hills, wdiere there were 
no roads. We arranged to have an elephant take us back 
in the evening" to our camp. It was a big, lumbering, good- 
natured animal. Ills master, the so-called "mahut," could 



38 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



make him perform several tricks. On a command from 
the "mahiit the elephant ,would curl his trunk upward, 
touch his forehead and bow to _you. That was his greeting- 
or salaam. He would also throw his trunk back and open 
his mouth and let you examine his teeth. And a good solid 
set he had ! Then he would let the mahut do some acro- 




CLIMBING UP ON THE ELEPHANT. 



batic performances on his long white tusks. Of course he 
was entitled to a few lumps of sugar after these perform- 
ances. 

When we were to mount, the mahut ordered the ele- 
phant to lie down. This he did by putting his forefeet for- 
ward and his hindlegs backwards, and sinking slowly to the 



MODES OF TRAVEL. 



.•39 



ground. Tl-.cn a great ninttrcss, or j'jad, was placed on liis 
back and tied with stout ropes. When everything was ready 
the niahut asked us to mount. This was more easily said 
than done. But the mahut rose to the occasion. Standing 
on one of the hind legs, which protruded like a log from 
under the great body, he caught the elephant's tail and held 
it so that it formed a loop. Then he told us to step on to 




the other hindleg and from there by putting a foot into 
the loop and catching hold of the ropes, to climb up. By 
following these instructions and recieving a little assistance, 
my wife managed to get settled on the broad back of the 
elephant. After her, our daughter and I scrambled up in 
turn. 



40 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

With the raahiit in front and our whole family on 
his back, the elephant must have felt quite crowded. 
With a groan he began to move. First one end was raised, 
then the other. We clung to the ropes for dear life. Tha^ 
is the older members of the family did ; the younger one 
clung to her father and shouted : "Let me down or I shall 
faint." But it was to late, the great body had begun to 
move. Confidence was soon restored and we had an en- 
joyable time. 

Passing through the jungle the elephant would avoid 
all low branches — wdiich, if he had passed under them, 
would have swept us off his back or, worse yet. left us 
suspended, like Absalom ! but when he passed under a ban- 
yan tree he invariably broke off a branch or two to chew 
as he walked along. 

Presently we came to a stream. Very carefully he 
climbed down the steep bank. In the middle of the stream 
he stopped to have a drink. Pie put his trunk into the 
water, sucked in a few gallons, opened his mouth and squirt- 
ed the water down into his cavernous stomach. When he 
had satisfied the cravings of his inside he thought of his out- 
side. A bath suggested itself to his mind and he at once 
started to take one. It was a shower bath. Plad not the 
mahut protested in time we should all have been included 
in it, but, as it was, we got only a few stray drops. At 
sunset we arrived at the rest-house. There our animal 
laid down again and we slid to the ground. 



m 



SERVANTS. 



One of the necessar}' evils a European In India has to 
put up with is servants. He needs them to look after his 
comforts. The great trouble is that he has to have such a 
number of them. At home one single girl will do nearly all 
the work of an entire household, while out here about a 
dozen men are required. 

First you must have a cook. All over the world the 
cook is an important person, but in this land his importance 
is almost majestic. It would not do to address him as His 
Exellency; His Majesty would be more proper. And if he 
gives you good things to eat you will have no objection to 
addressing him in any term that will suit him, or his posi- 
tion. 

The jungle missionary lives in a straw-thatched bunga- 
low, behind which are a few small houses. One of these 
is the kitchen. There the cook reigns supreme. You will 
look in vain for a cook stove or range. Ail you will find 
is an open fireplace and a few pots and pans. However, 
that does not hinder him in the exploitation of his art. He 
will send up to your table a dish that tastes and looks like 

41 



42 



SKETCHES I'^ROM SANTALISTAN. 



beef steak, and )'et yon know all the time that yon arc 
eating- ehicken. Jleef is to be had only in the large cities. 
Yes, and what is more, he can with a little anchovy sance 
and some tricks of his trade canse the white meat of a 
chicken to appear like fish. 




SERVANTS. 

There is almost no end to his inventions. Especially in 
connection with chicken, he is a perfect juggler. Small 
wonder that he is so important ! The welfare of the v^diole 
family is in his hands. 



SKRVAXTS. 



43 



Tlic conk has to have an assistant. ITc is called "pani- 
Avalla," or water carrier. W'ith a bamboo pole, from whicl'i 
are suspended a pair of earthenware vessels or a pair of 
empty kerosene tins, across his shoulders, he goes to the 
spring or well or pond as the case may be for the daily 
supply of water. Then he has to make the fire, chop wood, 




THE PANIWALLA. 



scour pots and pans, in short, do most of the work of the 
cook at wdiose beck and call he must always be. There is 
more work than dignity connected with his position. 

Next, there is the bearer, or house servant. This man 
has to keep the house in order and wait on the table. Usu- 
ally his work does not keep him long. He finds lots of time 



44 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

to hang about the kitchen or to try to work the tickle out 
of his tongue with his particular crony in the shade of 
some mango tree in the compound. Yet if you call him 
he is at your elbow almost in an instant, ready to do your 
bidding. 

Next to claim your attention is the Dhoby. You must 
have heard of the Dhoby. He is the famous washerman of 
India. On Monday morning he calls for the wash and Sa- 
turday evening he brings it back clean, crisp, starched and 
ironed. He brings it in a big bundle on his back, except 
w'hen it is very heavy; then his wife brings the bundle on 
her head. It isn't the style here for men to carry anything 
on their heads. 

The washerman takes your clothes to the pond, and by 
a dexterous set of manipulations perfected by generation 
after generation of Dhobies, dips the dirty garment into 
the dirty water and beats it against a dirty stone with the 
result that he can deliver it to you clean. It is quite a 
sight to see a number of Dhobies at work about a pond 
beating clothes against stones. When Mark Twain first 
saw them he thought they were trying to crack the stones 
with wet clothes. 

The Dhoby neither gives nor implies any guarantee not 
to tear your garments or to pound any buttons to pieces. 
The owner has to take all those risks. 

If you have a horse it is also necessary for you to keep 
a servant called a "syce." The name is Hindustani and 
several ''sizes" too small for the position. His work is to 
look after the horse, clean it, feed it, and saddle it when the 
master calls for it 

If he is a member of the Hindu caste \vhose caste-work 
it is to take care of horses, the "syce" will want a helper 
to do the work for him. It would be below him to eo out 



SERVANTS. 



45 



and cut an armful of grass for the horse. He must have 
a man of a lower caste to do the work. In the meantime 
the "syce" will sit on his heels and smoke his "huka" and 
draw his pay. 

Often it is not possible for a missionary to get a pro- 
per supply of milk from the village, lie must keep his own 




VILLAGE WASHER-MAN OR DHOBY. 



COWS. If he has cows he must also have a cowman to take 
care of them. The cowman's duties are to feed the cows, 
herd them, bring them to the back door of the bungalow 
morning and evening and milk them. 

In America, milking a cow is not regarded as a very 
difficult operation. Nearly everybody in the country di- 



46 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

stricts knows, how to milk. Out here in Santahstan it is 
quite different. You need only to watch the cowman once 
to find that out. First the milch-cow is brought and tied 
to a post, and a pail of feed is put before her. Then to 
prevent her kicking, the cowman ties both her hind legs 
together — that is if she is a kicker. These preliminaries 
ready, the calf is brought. Xo cow will give her milk 
without having her calf with her. When the calf has 
sucked a while the cowirian's assistant drags it away, and 
the cowman proceeds to extract the balance of the milk, 
often under the most violent protest from the cow. To 
make up a single quart of milk several cows are often cal- 
led upon to contribute. The small Santal cow is a better 
fighter than milker. 

If the calf dies the cow will not let herself be milked. 
The cowman will then try a ruse. He will stuff the skin 
of the dead calf, mount it on legs and bring it out at milk- 
ingtime for the poor mother to look and smell at. The ruse 
is often successful and the sight of the stuffed calf will 
make the cow give lier milk. 

We have named only the most important servants as we 
find them in the humble bungalow of the jungle missionary. 
In large and wealthy households there is simply no limit to 
the number of servants employed. 

But why keep so many ? 

Again we run up against the influence of the caste sys- 
tem. A man born a sweeper must remain a sweeper. A 
man born a cook must remain a cook. It is the work of 
his caste. No one else will do his work, neither will he do 
the work of others. In short, this is a land of specialists. 

Apart from this reason more people are really required 
to "attend to the work of a household in this country be- 
cause everything is so unhandy. AA'ater often has 'to be 



SERVANTS. 



47 



brought from a long ways off. Grass for the horses and 
cows the same. Owing to tlie hot cHmate many of the sup- 
plies can only be kept in small quantities. For the same 
reason food cannot very well be kept over from one day to 
the next, something which involves both extra work and 
waste. 




MILKING A COW. 



To take care of a house properly also means a great 
deal more work than at home. The white ants are very de- 
structive. They work while you sleep. Every corner of 
the house must be watched daily for signs of their activity. 
Every hole and crevice becomes the hidingplace of reptiles 
and insects. Hosts of creeping, flying, jumping things 
will take up their abode with you if you are not on the 
alert. 

In a well ordained household the servants are required 



48 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

to wear a sort of livery or uniform. If this rule were not 
enforced, they would perhaps in the hot weather appear 
with nothing on but a strip of loincloth. The house servants 
usually wear a long white coat, or rather a combination be- 
tween a coat and a nightshirt. On their heads they wear 
a turban called a puggree. To wind a turban properly is 
quite an art. They take a piece of thin muslin cloth some 
fifteen yards long and wind it about their heads in any 
shape they might fancy. There are as many shapes and 
fashions of servant's turbans out here as there are shapes 
and fashions of women's headgear at home. 

The outdoor servants wear jackets, the style, shape and 
color of which is usuall}^ left to their own fancy. 

I)Ut this reminds me — . 

Some time ago I paid a short visit to a neighbor mis- 
sionary. It was in the beginning of the cold season and the 
evenings were delightful. We sat out on the steps in front 
.of the bungalow and watched the stars being lit. We talked 
about home and our dear ones far across the seas and 
exchanged experiences in our work. After a while con- 
versation drifted on to other subjects and we fell to talk- 
ing about servants. 

The missionary's wife told the following story: "Some 
years ago high sleeves were the fashion in women's dresses. 
Last time we were home on furlough, I brought with nie 
several waists of that style. They were too heavy and 
warm for this country and I did not use them much so they 
got motheaten. One day in the rainy season I looked them 
over and found that they were eaten beyond repair, so I 
threw them away. 

During the f(~)no\\ing cold season we went to Calcutta 
to meet some frienrls and bring them out to our station for 
a short yisit. We ordered our syce to bring the horse and 



SEE V ANTS. 



49 



carriage to the railway station on a certain day when we 
would arrive with our guests. Imagine my mortification 
when on alighting from the train our syce comes up to us 
salaaming very politely, arrayed in one of my castaway 
motheaten, highsleeved waists ! 

Every European in India will have tO' learn, sometimes 




THE VILLAGE BARBER. 



through costly experience, that all servants are not quite 
honest, at least not so honest as they profess to be. The 
first servant we engaged was a Madrassy, that is, a man 
from the Madras presidency. We engaged him on the re- 
commendation of older missionaries and because he could 
talk a little English. He had to have one month's wages in 



50 



SKETCHES FROM SA^TALISTAN. 



advance. Well, after being with us four or five days he 
dissapeared into the mystic Indian night and we have never 
seen him since. 

You have to learn by experience how to deal with serv- 
ants. When you are a stranger they usually take you in. 




ON THE WAY TO THE WELL. 






THE MISSIONARY AS A DOCTOR. 



A missionary out in the jungle, far away from doctors 
and hospitals will by necessity be driven to "practice medi- 
cine," no matter whether he likes to or not. People find 
their way to him with their complaints. He is their father 
and mother, he must help them. As to his ability to help 
they have no doubt, for is he not a Saheb? And Sahebs 
know everything. 

AMren people have become Christians they have, of 
course no more faith in their old medicinemen and cannot 
employ them. Their medicines are given in connection with 
offerings to the "Bongas," or evil spirits, and that practice 
of course, is out of the question for Christians. Therefore 
when there is sickness in the Christian native family they 
naturally turn to the missionary. He must hel]) them. And 
so it happens that the missionary and his wife must "rush 
in where angels fear to tread." They must begin to "prac- 
tice." 

First you send for some manual of medicine. 

People tell you that homeo])athic medicines are the best 
for you to use. They are cheap and easy to take. Only 

51 



52 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

three drops in a little water, and you do not run any risk 
of overdosing- your patients. If it does not cure it certainly 
doesn't kill, and that a great consolation, because direc- 
tions are not ahvays followed out as carefully as they 
should be. 

Two men once came to the missionary to consult him 
about their grandmother's uncle's sister-in-law, or what- 
ever the relation was, that is onl)^ a matter of minor detail. 
Well, they explained their relation's symptoms and ans- 
wered all questions the missionary put to them. They had 
brought a bottle, a thing patients often fail to do, — ex- 
pecting the Saheb to furnish them with one. There was 
a crack however in the bottle, they had brought; but on 
their assiu^ng him that it did not leak he thought it would 
do. He then filled it half full of water, counted into it 17 
drops of homeopathic fluid, and told them to give the pa- 
tient an oystershell full three times a day for three days 
and after that to return for more. They made salaams and 
Avere off. 

On the way home through some accident the crack 
opened so that the bottle began to leak. They sat down by 
the roadside and held a consultation. A\'hat was to be done? 
The precious medicine was slowly dripping away without 
doing anyone a bit of good. The medicine would be Avasted 
and they would have their long walk for nothing. Rather 
than lose it they decided then and there to drink it them- 
selves. So each drank half of the contents of the bottle 
and was none the worse for it. 

One objection to the giving of homeopathic medicine to 
ablebodied Santals is that it tastes very little different from 
water. In fact it is hard for them to believe that it is med- 
icine at ail. For such cases one must give Pain Killer or 
some similar strong decoction. One takes a spoonful of 



54 SKKTCHEg FROM SANTALlSTAN. 

this, -mixes a little quinine into it, and gives it to the pa- 
tient in a little cold water. The patient will shed a few 
tears, the taste will ahide with him all day, hiit he will nev- 
er for a moment douht that it was a dose of real medicine 
he took. Often after such a dose the patient will clear his 
throat, wipe his eyes and say, ''This ought to cure me.". 

But I must tell you about Puchia. He and his family 
had been Christians for about a year and during that time 
every thing had gone well with them. But one day he sent 
word to the mission that he was very sick and asked us to 
send him some medicine. As we did not know what was 
ailing him we sent one of the preachers over to diagnose 
the case. He found that Puchia was suffering from fever, 
a cold, and an attack of colic. ^Medicine was prepared to 
meet all these symptoms. Directions were given that the 
Pain Killer should be taken at once to relieve his stomach, 
in a couple of hours he should take a fever-reducing draught 
and wdien the hot stage was passed he should take a dose 
of quinine. This last was to be repeated daily for three 
days. 

After taking the Pain Killer Puchia felt better, so 
much so that he was able to begin to reason with himself, 
that, if one dose of the medicine helped him so much, it 
was only reasonable to expect that if he took them all at 
once he would get well all the sooner. 

He then asked his wife to fetch him all the medicines. 
Although she protested, he drank all the aconite in the 
bottle, ate all the quinine we had put up for him, and then 
turned over on his mat and went to sleep. This was in 
the morning. All that day and the following night he 
slept. The next day towards noon he awoke completely 
cured. Pie never tired of extolling the power of the mis- 
sionarv's medicine. 



THE MISSIONARY AS A DOCTOR. 55 

One soon becomes familiar with cenair. common re- 
current com])laints and their remedies. There is a skin dis- 
ease, or itch, very common in the cold season, when people 
do not bathe as often as they should. One finds that it 
yields to treatment with sulphur, and people are very thank- 
ful to get rid of it. 

About four and a half million people die every year in 
India from malaria. For this there is one principal remedy 
quinine. And it is easy to administer, as the Government 
prepares it and sells it at all the postoffices throughout the 
land. It is put up in little envelopes containing one dose, 
and each costing half a cent. But quinine is bitter and very 
few i>eople think it palatable, therefore one must see that 
one's patients take it. It is always safest to have them take 
it in your presence. 

Sometimes people bring their blind to the missionary 
asking him to restore their eyesight, or their deaf ones, 
with the request that their hearing might be restored. 
When they come thus one always gets a chance to speak to 
them about the Great Healer who has come to heal all their 
diseases. 

There is no end to the variety of cases brought in. There 
are boils to be opened, sores to be cleansed and bandaged, 
and broken bones to be set. One must do his best to help 
relieve their sufferings. After awhile the Mem Saheb will 
specialize on women's and children's diseases, and the Sa- 
heb on the men's ills and the surgical cases. 

One day a man living eight miles from the mission sta- 
tion having heard of the wonderful power of the missionar- 
ies brought his case to the Mem Saheb. The difficulty was 
this: A few days previously his buffalo cow^ had calved. 
And though it was her own offspring, she was so perverse 



56 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALTSTAN. 



and so unnatural a mother that she refused to suckle it. 
Could the Mem Saheb give' him some medicine that would 
make the cow suckle her calf? 

The Mem Stheb was sorry she had no cattle medicine. 
The man had to return with an empty bottle. 



'^^iS£:M&^'^M-^ 






i* 5^ 



< ^ 




* i . -J^"' 



BARBER PARING TOE-NAILS. 





mW 



THE MISSIONARY AS A PEACE-MAKER. 



A missionary among a childish people like the Santals 
soon learns that his work is not finished when he has 
preached his sermon on Sunday. He must not only be their 
religious teacher but their guide to better things in every 
field. His relation to his flock will be like that of a father 
to his children. If they are sick they come to the mission- 
ary, if they are in want he is their refuge. So also when 
they quarrel, to the missionary they come with their com- 
plaints. 

Early this morning the whole adult male population 
from one of the nearest villages arrived and asked to have 
a little talk with the Padre. The headman came forward 
and said : 

"For two days we have tried to settle a dispute between 
Lalu and Karan, but without success, now we have brought 
them here to ask you if you will be kind enough to help 
us." 

Karan^and Lalu came forward and on being asked what 
the trouble was l)etween them, they both started to talk at 
once and evidently laboring under the illusion that the Pad- 

57 



58 SKETCHES I^ROM SANTALISTAN. 

re was deaf. During a little lull in their vociferous expost- 
ulations the Padre got a chance to ask: 

"Who told you I was deaf?" 

"No one has told us that," was the reply. 

''Now don't you try to fool me," the Padre continued, 
"someone must have tried to slander me and told you that 
I was almost stone deaf and that you had to shout at the 
top of your voices to make me hear. Do tell me the name 
of the rascal and I shall make him limp. — I can hear as 
well as any of you." 

These or similar remarks usually break the spell, the 
excitement subsides and one can get down to business. 

In this case it appeared that Karan had lent Lalu 30 
cents a year and a half ago. For this sum Karan was to 
have the privilege of using one of Lalu's fields for three 
years. The headman and several neighbors were witnes- 
ses to the transaction. Karan had worked the field one 
year and was beginning to prepare it for the second year's 
planting when Lalu went to the field and forbid him to 
touch it. Lalu wanted to work his own field after this. 
Hot words fell on both sides but, fortunately, they did not 
come to blows. 

In the Santal Parganas this transaction is illegal. A 
Santal has no right to sell the use of his fields in this way, 
and if such cases are brought into the coin-ts both parties 
are liable to be punished. 

Lalu was asked why he had backed out of his part of 
the contract. He replied that he thought Karan had got 
much more than the amount he lent him from the one crop 
he had reaped. 

Karan ^vas then asked to show how much pacldy he had 
raised on the field last year. Pie gave the amount, and 
when the cost of working the field was deducted a net pro- 



THE MISSIONARY AS A PEACE-MAKER. 59 

fit of 25 cents was left. 'Jliis left a Ijalance of five cents 
of tlie loan besides interest for a year antl a half. 

"For what purpose did you borrow the money, Lalu?" 

''My cows were put in the pound and 1 had to pay 
damages to get them out," was the reply. 

"Karan helped you when you was in trouble. You give 
him your word of honor as a man that he could have the 
use of this field for three years, but after he had used it 
only one year you not only break your promise but drive 
him from the field. This is not a man's act but that of a 
child. You promise to pay Karafi the balance of the debt 
next fall, but, will he believe you? You have proved before 
all of us how much your word is to be depended on. You 
have broken your word once, you are able to do so again. 
Apart from the fact that your transaction is illegal, three 
years is too long a time. Two years would have been 
ample. Karan ought not to have taken advantage of his 
neighbor when he was in need. Christ has told us that we 
should love one another and help each other in time of 
need. 

Lalu was asked to pay the balance of his debt in the 
presence of the assembly. He managed to raise the re- 
Cjuired , sum, paid it over, peace was restored and the two 
men promised never to quarrel again. 

Domestic quarrels are not uncommon and calls for 
both delicate and diplomatic treatment. 

A few evenings ago a woman came to tell the Padre 
that she was not going to live with her husband any more 
She said : 

''I will not stay with that brute any longer. You have 
married me to him and now you must release me. I shall 
never darken that man's door again. The world is big, I 
can go anywhere, but back to him, never, never !" 



60 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN, 

"What has happened?" 

"My hnshand abused me, called me a witch and at last 
he gave me a beating. Look at my shoulder here and my 
arms and see for yourself. — I'll never go back to him !" 

There were bruises on her arms and one of her shoud- 
ers, which bore testimony to the fact, that if they were 
inflicted by her husband, he had certainly not spared the 
rod. 

The w^oman was asked to spend the night with her 
brother who lived in the nearest village. In the morning 
her case would be looked into. Her husband would be 
called and everything done to straighten matters out. 

"But, my baby ! Why doesn't my husband bring the 
baby ?" 

"Let the baby stay with its father tonight, it will be 
quite all right. You stay with your brother tonight and 
come over tomorrow morning." 

At dawn the next morning the woman was at the mis- 
sion. Restlessly she walked up and down the road wait- 
ing for her husband to appear. After a night away from 
her baby and her home, things began to look different. 
When the husband arrived, it was but the work of a few 
minutes to get each one to admit his share of the blame 
and to ask forgiveness. Then both knelt at the throne of 
grace and asked their heavenly Father to forgive them. 

They admitted that they had been careless of late. 
Their family altar had been neglected and they had become 
very slack in church going. The enemy had seen his 
chance to get in between them. 

They said goodbye and started for home. The husband 
walked ahead and the wife with her child astride her hip 
followed five or six paces behind, but ^everybody who saw 
them knew that they went home to live their second honey- 
moon. 




SALKU AND HIS PIG. 



A Santal village is quite democratic in its government, 
There is a set of officers generally elected by the villagers 
themselves. The leader is the village chief or headman, 
called "Manjhi." He has an assistant called "Paranik." 
There is also a village messenger and a priest or two. Be- 
side these there is yet another important officer, the "Jog- 
^lanjhi" v\rhose duties are many and difficult to describe ; 
suffice it to say that he is more or less responsible for the 
morals of the young people in the village. 

Any villager can bring his or her troubles to the head- 
man, who must hear them patiently and if he finds the 
case of sufficient importance he will send the messenger 
to call the villagers together and they will sit on the case. 
Every adult residing in the village has not only a right to 
a seat in the village council but has a right to partake in 
its deliberations. 

After hearing a case the village assembly will pass 
judgement, and although the case may subsequently be 
brought into the law-courts the judge or magistrate will as 
a rule uphold the decision of the village assembly. 

61 



62 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



According" to western ideas of justice, many of the 
decisions of the village council are queer, but as long as 
they themselves are satisfied and their troubles are settled 
peaceably, why should outsiders complain? Naturally it is 
only petty cases they can decide, such as small property 
cases, social questions, and matters pertaining to witches. 
Litigation of this kind they enjoy. The villagers will leave 




BRINGING THE PIG HOME. 



their work and sit for a whole day discussing from every 
possible and impossible standpoint a case involving the 
value of a few pennies. 

]'>ut I must tell you about Salku and his pig. 

Salku is a heathen b\'ing in one of the nearest villages. 
Many of his neighbors and relatives have become Christ- 



SALKU AND HIS PIG. 63 

ians, but he has ahvays hidden behind some excuse. How- 
ever, he is very friendly and often comes to the mission. 

One day both Salku and his wife came to us in great 
excitement. They complained that Sitol, a Christian neigh- 
bor of theirs, had killed their pig. It was the only pig they 
had, and they were very much attached to it and felt the 
loss keenly. Would not the missionary, who is their father 
and mother, compel Sitol to give them another pig, a live 
one in place of the one he had killed? 

Now it is Santal law that if a pig strays into a man's 
field and does damage, the owner of the field is at liberty 
to kill the pig and keep the head and one forepart for him- 
self ; the rest of the anim'al he must make over to the owner. 
Among neighbors in the same village, however, it is the 
custom to warn a man two or three times, and, if he still 
persists in letting his pig run at large, it will subseciuently 
be killed. 

This was in the spring, and Sitol had just planted his 
corn. Salku's pig, who had in some way found this out, 
went to Sitol's field, started to root out the corn and cat 
it. Sitol was not at all pleased wih this performance. Me 
drove the i)ig away and sent word to its owner to take care 
of it. But Sitol had no sooner returned to his house than 
the pig was there again plowing crooked furrows across 
his cornfield. 

Sitol lost his temper, got his bow and arrows, went to 
the field and the result was that Salku lost his pig. Hav- 
ing cut away his rightful share Sitol called Salku to take 
away what was left. But this he refused to do. 

He said to Sitol: "AVhat am T to do with a dead pig? 
Give me a live one as good as the one yon have killed, 
otherwise 1 will go to the Sabeb and comnlnin." 

•Of cotirse, there was no settlement. Sitiil's temper was 



64 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



up and there were hot words on both sides, so they left the 
dead pig on the field and Salku and his wife came to the 
mission. 

After asking them a few questions as to how it all came 
about, I told them that the best thing they could do was to 
go home, take charge of their parts of the animal and say 




REMOVING THE BRISTLES. 



nothing more about it. Afterwards I would investigate the 
case, and if Sitol was at fault we would compel him to 



make good the loss. 



But Salku persisted that he would not touch the dead 
pig. What he wanted was a live one. I tried to tell him 
that a pig, like a miser, was no good to anybody until it 



SALKU AXD HIS PIG, 65 

was dead. But all my arguments were in vain. Salku knew 
wliaL he wanted, and that was a Hve pig. 

''Well."' I said, "you must go to the village headman 
and complain. When the villagers gather to hear your case 
1 will send some of my men over to help you and see that 
justice is done." 

The same afternoon the villagers were called together 
and the trial began. In the examination it appeared that 
Sitol had warned his neighbor only once that his pig was 
doing damage. That was wrong of him. He should at 
least have warned him twice. Therefore he was guilty of 
wrong-doing. To this everybody agreed. 

Sitol was found guilty. 

The next question to be settled was this : What right 
had Salku to let his pig run at large at this time of the 
year, when people were putting in their crops ? Everyone 
else in the village had his pigs tied or herded. All agreed 
that Salku had absolutely no right to let his pig run about 
at its own pleasure. 

Salku was also found guilty. 

The next question to be solved was whether they were 
both ec|ually guilty, or if one offence was greater than the 
other. 

One of the village patriarchs spoke up and said : 'T 
think they are both equally guilty. They have both done 
wrong and should be punished equally." 

This opinion was received with a general murmur of 
assent. The headman then asked in what the punishment 
shoulfl consist, but, as no one ventured to propose anything 
he asked three of the village fathers to go aside and agree 
on a motion to lay before the assembly. After a short 
deliberation they returned with this proposal that each of 
the two litigants should pay a fine of one rupee, four 



66 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



annas, a sum which equals about forty cents in American 
money. 

Such fines when reahzed are as a rule (Hvided e(|ually 
among the villagers who took part in the case. They either 
divide the money, or buy a goat or a pig for it and divide 
the meat, or — which is the most common among the 




FEASTING. 



heathen — they go to the nearest drink shop and buy rice- 
beer for it. But according to Santal ideas it is neccessary 
that such fines be spent in eating or drinking, so that the 
offence may be removed. The sin of the offender is "eaten" 
by those who judged him. Afterwards no one has a right 
to throw the offence into his face again, his sin has been 



SALKU AND HIS PIG. 



67 



eaten aiul digested, as they express it. Should any one 
bring up the offence again he makes himself liable to pun- 
ishment by his fellow villagers. 

But there was yet another riddle to be solved before 
the days work was done. What was to be done with the 
dead pig? 

After long and ])rofound deliberations it was finally 
agreed that Sitol should return the part he had taken away 
and that the whole pig should be divided into two equal 
parts. One part should be given to Sitol and the other to 
Salku. Both men had been equally guilty of wrong-doing, 
both had been fin'ed equally, therefore it was only just that 
both should share equally in the pig. The fact of the original 
ownership of the pig was entirely lost in the deep deliber- 
ations of the assembly. 

Sitol took the part decreed to him, sold enougli of the 
meat to pay his fine and had a feast with his family on the 
remainder. For them it was a joyous event, as the times 
were hard and it was not often that they could afford to 
have meat. Salku, the original owner of the pig, did the 
same with his share but unfortunately his residue after 
having sold enough to pay his fine was a very small one. 
However, both parties were perfectly satisfied with the 
outcome of the case. They went home as good friends as 
ever. Their troubles had been adjusted by the village coun- 
cil. 




THE SACRED BULL. 



Beldans-al is a larafe Hindu villase. There are ruins in 



^& 



it of old Hindu temples and palaces, but the glories of the 
place all lie in the past, the hazy, dreamy past of Hindustan. 
The present picture shows a couple of rows of low, straw- 
thatched, illkept mud-houses, a crooked, dirty street with 
a few goats, calves and naked children. 

Many of the villagers are Brahmins. They are holy 
men and priests of Siva, Ram," Krishna and the millions of 
other gods of Hinduism. In fact, the Brahmin himself is 
a god and is worshipped as such. All Hindus of the lower 
castes must bow down before the Brahmin and worship 
him. If a Brahmin comes to the house of a low-caste man 
he must be entertained with the best the house can afford. 
But first of all his feet must be washed in a bowl and the 
host drink a a mouthful of that dirty water. By drinking 
that water the man acquires merit and believes that his sins 
arc washed away. 

Some years ago there lived an old Brahmin in this 
Anilage. lie was quite rich, but he was old and feeble and 
felt that the end was drawing near. Like a wise man he 

68 



TBK SACUEl) 15ULL. 



69 



began to prepare himself so that he could meet death in 
the right way. 

The first thing he did was to look about for a suitable 
bull calf, whose tail he could clasp in his dying hand and 
into which his soul could pass when it should have to leave 
the body. He was anxious about his next incarnation. 




HINDU WORSHIPPER. 



^^'hat if he should be sent to earth again to occupy the 
body of a snake, a dog or a sow ? The very thought filled 
him with horrors. He must find a bull calf. 

In a Santal village close by. a suitable calf was at last 
found. After due bickering it was purchased and brought 
to the Brahmin's house and tied close at hand should it be 
suddenly needed. 



70 SKIlTCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

In due course the Brjrhmin died clasping the calf's tail. 
As soon as his struggles were over, the preparations for 
his cremation were begun. The priests gathered. Holy 
water from the Ganges was sprinkled on the bull calf and 
he was consecrated to Siva. Then they branded it on both 
hindquarters, on one side with the image of the lotus flow- 
er and on the other with the trident, or the three-tined fork 
of Siva. 

The Brahmin's body, " the bull calf and a number of 
things necessary to the various ceremonies were then 
brought out to a large pond near the village where the 
funeral pyre had already been built. 

With due ceremonies the body was ])ut on the pyre. 
The eldest son applied the torch to the wood Avith his own 
hand, and all that was mortal of the old Brahmin was re- 
duced to ashes. While this was going on, the calf Avas 
brought forward and the eldest son, in tlie name of his 
departed father, grasped it by the tail, drove it out into the 
pond and forced it to swim across, \\nien the other bank 
was reached the boy let go of the tail and the ceremony, so 
far as the calf was concerned, was over. 

The calf was now a sacred bull. No one was allowed 
to tie him or use him for any work, and he was free to 
wander about wherever he pleased. 

No sooner had the calf found out that he was free than 
it started for its native village. Nearly all the people there 
are Santals and have no great respect for sacred bulls. 
From door to door it was beaten and abused, and for a 
while it had a daily struggle to obtain food. 

But as the days passed by he grew to be a large and 
strong bull and soon found that he no longer needed to run 
away from the little shepherd boys, but rather that they 
would flee before his horns. He tried larger boys and the 



THF. SACRIOl) BULL. 71 

experiment nsually came out tlie same way, they fled. At 
last he tried grown-up men, ami his e.xperience was that in 
most cases his warlike appearence, flourishing horns, paw- 
ing and bellowing would put even them to rout. The San- 
tals whispered to one another that a Plindu "Bonga" had 
taken possession of the bull, and they gave him a wide berth. 

In this way the sacred bull became a first class nuisance 
in the village. If a woman spread her grain on the ground 
to dry, the bull would be there to eat it. All her shouting 
and flourishing of stick availed nothing. 

In the first part of June every year the farmers sow 
their ]:)addy, or rice, in hotbeds so as to get the plants ready 
to set out as soon as the rains come. y\t this time of the 
year lliese hotbeds are the only green patches on the land- 
scape. Xo wonder these patches were a source of tempta- 
tion to the sacred bull ! 

Before dawn one morning an ol<l Santal found the bull 
in the middle of his hotbed munching the young, green 
shoots. This was going a little too far, the old man thought. 
His temper was up. Back to the house he went to fetch 
an ax and a rope. 

In a short time the spirit of the Brahmin was again 
homeless, and all the Santals in the village knew before 
sunrise that under a certain matkom tree at the edge of the 
woods there was fresh beef to be had. 

The entire Santal population of the village feasted. And 
it was the understanding that no tongue should wag about 
that matter, but that everybody should go home and forget 
where the beef came from. And had tlie old man not been 
indiscreet, the story would perhaps have ended here, but 
his avarice led him into troul)lc. 

He cured the hide of the sacred bull and took it to mar- 
ket. The hide merchant, on examining it noticed the brands. 



72 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



Crowds of Hindus soon gathered around and some one re- 
cognized the hide as the one which once covered tlie sacred 
bull of Beldangal. 

The Hindus were in a rage and threatened the old man 
with violence. "Think of it," they said, "the Santals have 
killed a sacred bull and perhaps even eaten it!" 




SIRDARS. 

The old man was then taken to the Sirdar, who is a 
sort of head of the village watchmen in the district. The 
Sirdar was a Santal living in the same village as the of- 
fender, and had likely eaten his share of the beef. How- 
ever, in his official capacity he called the villagers together 
and made out a list of some tv/enty families who had par- 



THE SACRED BULL. 73 

taken of the feast. The people were thoroughly frighten- 
ed and wondered what punishment would be meted out to 
them. The Sirdar held the opinion that they would all 
have to go to jail; still if each family would give him two 
rupees, he said, he would square matters with the Hindus 
and the whole thing would soon blow over. 

Some days passed and the Brahmins in Beldangal be- 
came impatient. The Santals had not been punished as 
they thought they ought to be, so the Brahmins went and 
called in another Sirdar, a Hindu. This new referee inves- 
tigated the case, first in the village of the Santals ; then 
he took seven or eight of the leaders with him to his own 
village six miles away, where he kept them for two days 
and, according to the custoni of his ilk, tried to squeeze 
heavv bribes from them. 

But the Santals finally grew tired of this procedure and 
agreed among themselves that it was best for them to go 
directly to the magistrate, confess everything, and take 
their ])unishment at his hands like men. 

The magistrate called in the two Sirdars and the San- 
tals and held a searching inquiry, under which the work 
of those two men came out in a rather unfavorable light. 
The Santal Sirdar having returned the rupees, he had taken 
and being shielded by his people escaped punishment, but 
the Hindu Sirdar was fined heavily, and barely escaped 
losing his post for the part he had played. 

The magistrate then asked the Santals which of them 
had killed the bull ? 

An old wrinkled Santal came forward, bowed low, and 
said : "Your Honor, I killed it.'' 

The magistrate laughed and said : "Is is possible that an 
old man like you singlehanded could kill a large strong 
bull ?" But all the villagers declared that what he said was 
true. The magistrate then put his hand into his pocket, 



u 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



brought out two rupees, gave them to the old man, and 
told him to go home. 

Through this experience both Hindus and Santals have 
found out that before the law there is no difference be- 
tween a sacred bull and a common plow bullock, and that, 
as the sacred bull had no home and no owner responsible 
for it, in the event it becomes a public nuisance, it as a 
good riddance to kill it. 

The Brahmins complain that since the Englishmen be- 
came the rulers of this country justice is not to be had. The 
most awful crimes, even the killing of sacred bulls, remain 
unpunished. 

On the other hand the Santals never tire of singing tlie 
j)raises of the luiglish magistrate. 1liey say : "The Saheb 
does not kx)k at tlie face of the rirahmin, neither does he 
look at the face of the Santal, but he deals out justice 
equally to all." 




SANTAL CHRISTIANS. 




RELIGIOUS QUARRELS 



In many of the villages in Sanlalistan the population is 
a very mixed one. A tlozen or more Mindu castes may he 
represented, each with its own gotls, worship and cere- 
monies, iiut that does not matter scj long as the people 
are all Hindus. The power of the Ih'ahmin holds them 
together. 

With Mohammedans it is different. They have very 
little in common with the Hindus, and it is not infrequent 
that Hindus and Moslems step on each others' religious 
corns. 

A short way from the Mission station there is a large 
village. The most of its inhabitants are Hindus of the 
various castes but there are also a number of Mohamme- 
dan families. 

Some time ago a babajee, or religious mendicant, came 
to the village, ostensibly to strengthen the faith of the 
Hindus. He was quite modern in his methods. Among 
other things he carried with him an accordion, a patched 
and scarred veteran of many a compaign yet under the 
babajees trained hand an instrument capable of producing 

75 



76 SKETCHES FROM SANTALTSTAN, 

a series of the most wonderful sounds and noice§ ever in- 
vented by man. 

The young men of the village were recruited to help. 
Some were put to beating drums, some to playing various 
stringed instruments, and some to dancing — all this to 
please and honor the gods and to procure an easy living 
for the babajee. 

The Hindu villagers were highly delighted with the 
music, and enthusiasm grew fast. Every night the crowds 
would be larger, the music louder, and the shouting of the 
dancers more rapturous. All night long pandemonium 
reigned in the street. 

After listening to this racket for a week or two the 
Mohammedans, of course, thought it was getting stale, and 
they began to protest against having their night's rest brok- 
en ; but no one heeded them. At last they thought they 
could bear it no longer, therefore they raised a purse and 
bought an old cow. They bided their time till the crowds 
had gathered in the evening to resume their noisy dance. 
Then they butchered the cow in sight of the dancing Hin- 
dus just to see what would happen. 

According to Hindu ideas to kill a cow, the most sacred 
animal, is considered one of the greatest crimes a human 
being can commit. 

The killing of the cow stopped both the music and the 
dancing and so far proved effective, but as to restoring 
peace the measure was a total failure. It was rather like 
the upsetting of a beehive. The babajee preached a crusade 
against the Moslems and any longbearded follower of the 
illustrious prophet who dared show his head outside his 
door would at once be made a target for all sorts of missiles. 

Fortunately most of the fighting in this country is done 
by windpower. It is a question of good strong lungs. 



RELIGIOUS QUARRELS. . 77 

The Hindus would tell the Mohammedans what they 
thought of them, their fathers and forefathers for twenty 
generations back. And when the male line was finished 
opinion would be passed on their female line of forbears. 

But the jNIohammedans were not entirely without train- 
ing in this sort of warfare. They thought of several spicy 
things to say about the Hindus, both of the present and the 
past generations, so the scores were about even. 

When the Hindus saw that no satisfactory results were 
to be gained by verbal warfare they gathered a council of 
war to discuss the situation. In this they decided on a 
more modern way of silencing their antagonists. They de- 
clared a boycott. Nc IMussulman was to be allowed to draw 
water from the village ponds, and no Hindu was to buy 
from or sell anything to a Moslem, or to have any dealings 
with him of any nature whatever under penalty of being 
outcasted. 

As to water, the boycott was of no inconvenience. It 
was just at the end of the rainy season and water was 
plentyful everywhere. But many of the Mahammedans 
were weavers and cloth merchants ; and, when they found 
that they could obtain no space in the marketplace to ex- 
hibit their wares, they found the boycott not only an incon- 
venience but a serious loss to them, as it cut them off from 
their means of livelihood. 

Several of the ^Moslem fathers then got together to 
consider what was to be done. After due smoking of 
''huka" and much stroking of beard it was decided that 
five of the most representative members of their clan 
should go to the magistrate of the district and lodge a 
complaint of unfair treatment against the owner of the 
marketplace. 

"But," said one, "would it not be a good thing if we 



78 SKETCHES FROM SANTA LI STAN. 

could get the Padre to give us a letter to the magistrate? 
He knows all about our troubles and a few words from 
him would surely limber up the arm of the law and help 
us to secure speedy justice." 

In consequence of his, three of the most longbearded 
and venerable fathers kissed the Moslem blarneystone — 
if such a thing exists — and came to the Mission. They 
found the Padre on the veranda and after deep salaams 
addressed him as follows: "We know that you are the 
father and mother of us all. Your blessings preserve our 
poor lives and there is no one like you in the land, and 
above you there is only one — Allah. Your Illustrious Pre- 
sence knows that those worshippers of idols, our neighbors, 
are persecuting us and have forbidden us to sit in the 
market-place and sell our wares. Our children have be- 
come like shadows from hunger, and we ourselves are, as 
Your Higness well can see, bent with sorrow. In our 
trouble we have come to Your Plighness with a little prayer. 
Would Your Highness make us and our children haj^py 
forever by giving us a little letter to the magistrate so that 
we might get speedy justice and these worshippers of idols 
be put to shame?" 

"O yes, the Padre would gladly do that if he wanted 
your suit to be dismissed. But that he does not want. Look 
here, those magistrates are very suspicious people, that you 
know. Well, if you come to the magistrate with a letter 
from the Padre Saheb he will think, "Those men must have 
very little ground to stand on, as they have found it neces- 
sary to get support from a Padre.' And he will dismiss your 
case." 

With more blarney a1)out the wisdom of the Saheb they 
salaamed and went their way. The complaint was lodged 
with the magistrate of the district. ITe sent out two native 



RELIGIOUS QUARRELS. 



79 



deputy police inspectors to investigate the case on the spot. 
One of them was. a Hindu and the other a Mohammedan. 

Each inspector went to his own people and raised as 
much money among them as he could. Then the inspectors 
called both parties together for a heart to heart talk, in 
which they admonished them to make friends again and 
forget their Cfuarrels. If not, they would have to take the 
leaders on both sides with them to jail, for they had both 
been found guilty of breach of the peace. 

This threat was effectual. The complaint was with- 
drawn and peace settled again in the market-place under 
the mango trees, 




VILLAGE CHARCOAL PEDLER. 



!W!S!Hffif!!S!^^ 



MOSQUITOES AND OTHER INSECTS. 



For a collector of bugs and insects Santalistan must be 
a veritable Eldorado with an inexhaustable supply of mat- 
erial. During the rainy season, especially, you will find 
insects and bugs everywhere, all kinds of them, describable 
ones as well as indescribable ones. If you light your lamp 
in the evening and forget to shut the doors or windows 
your table will soon be covered with the most wonderful 
collection of creeping, flying, jumping beings, many of them 
regular stinkpots. If you go out for a morning walk you 
will se big beetles rolling balls of cowdung along the road 
in front of you. Why they do it and where they are rolling 
them to only a bugologist can tell. 

Then there are the armies of ants, always busy. Some 
dwell in trees, some in the ground. In well ordered regi- 
ments they move from one camp to another and you never 
get tired of watching them. If you turn over a leaf or a 
twig there are the white ants, a brotherhood, the members 
of which are past masters in the art of destruction. The 
Avhite ant, they say, can cat and digest everything except, 
perhaps, tempered steel. 

80 



MOSQUITOES AND OTHER INSECTS. 



81 



Someone has claimed that the Himalaya mountains once 
extended over half of India, but through the ages the white 
ants have eaten and digested the greater part of them, and 
they are still at the work. However we need have no fear 
that the great peaks will be destroyed during our lifetime 
as it is too cold for them up there to make fast progress. 




THE WATERPOT SELLER. 



White ants cannot endure the cold. So far they have 
limited their operations to the warm countries. Hot and 
sultry weather seems to stimulate them to extra activity. 
Their disposition is decidedly pessimistic. They always 
approach a thing from the dark side. They cannot stand 
the light. 

In the morning you may discover a pile of wet dirt in 



82 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

the corner of your room. Poke a stick into it and you will 
find it swarming with white ants. Unless your floor is 
made from good cement you had better not put your shoes 
there over night. If you do, you may find only the iron 
heel pegs left to wear the next morning. 

One of our missionaries, while out on a preaching tour, 
once spent a night in a village temple. Thoughtlessly he put 
a certain garment of his on the floor beside his bed, and the 
result was that he had to wear his pajamas the next day. 

On a hot sultry night a lady missionary took a mat and 
placed it on the ground in front of her bungalow, where 
she could get a little breeze. She fell soundly asleep. To- 
ward morning she awoke with a cold creepy sensation about 
head. It did not take her long to find out that her hair 
Avas literally full of white ants, and she had to get busy to 
save herself from being scalped or at least made bald- 
headed. 

The evil fame of the Indian mosquito has reached to the 
ends of the earth. Compared to him his American cousin 
is an aristocrat and a gentleman. He is a man of principle 
and full of business. He will come prospecting around 
your face, neck or hands, and when he finds a hopeful look- 
ing locality he at once gets out his drill and starts business. 
And if he has "struck oil" he will let himself be distracted 
by nothing, he will chose death rather than to be deprived 
of his business. 

Not so the Indian mosquito. He will come to you under 
the guise of a philanthropist. He knows that your soul 
is starving for want of music, so he comes to sing to you. 
And he has a voice like a Scotch bagpipe. While he sings 
he will scout around for a favorable place to attack you. 
When his plans of attack are matured, he will call his 
caste-fellows and put some (jf them at diverting your at- 



84 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

tention, while he reHeves you of some of your superfluous 
blood. 

Now, if it were only the loss of a few gallons of blood, 
you might, perhaps, in time be able to forgive him his 
thieving propensities ; but there are worse things to be said 
against him. He is a murderer. He will not kill you him- 
self, oh no, he must not spoil his reputation as a philan- 
thropist. His wife has to do that. 

The females in one branch of the mosquito family, 
called the Anopheles, have been delegated to poison you. 
This they do by pumping into your blood the germs of 
^Malaria. If enough of the germs have been injected into 
yo.ur veins, you get the dreadful fever. 

You soon understand that the mosquito is your enemy, 
and 3^ou must get him, or he will ultimately get you. There 
can be no peace between you and him. You wage war 
against him in various ways. First by draining off all 
pools of stagnant water, or, if that is not possible, by pour- 
ing kerosene on them, for in such places the mosquitoes - 
breed and multiply. 

It is no easy matter to get the Santals to understand, 
that there is a connection between the pool of stagnant water 
and the man dying from malaria. You must demonstrate 
it to them. You take some stagnant water, in which there 
are a great number of those little wrigglers, or mosquito 
spawn, and put it in a bottle. Then you tie paper securely 
over the mouth of it, only perforating the paper with a pin 
to give the wrigglers air. In a day or two they will be 
surprised to see how many fullfledged mosquitoes there 
are on top of the water. In this way, little by little, it will 
dawn on them, that you are right after all, when you say 
that the little wrigglers turn into mosquitoes. 

Next, you protect yourself against the onslaught of this 



MOSQUITOES AND OTIIEU INSECTS, 85 

little foe, by sleeping under a curtain. To each bed there 
is a framework about three feet high, on which you stretch 
)^our mosquito net. With the net well tucked in about you. 
there is very little chance for him to get at you. He will 
sing- and drone and buzz around and blunder against the 
curtain until he gets tired, then he will sit down on the 
curtain-poles and sulk. 

Someone has said, that if the Hindu doctrine about the 
transmigration of the soul is correct, the Indian mosquito 
must originally have been a Scotchman. The droning is 
unmistakably a survival of the bagpipe. And besides that 
you can trace the national shrewdness in his business 
methods, for having treated you to his music, he will next 
claim a "wee bit of a drappie." 

If the mosquitoes have succeeded in filling your blood 
with the germs of malaria, there is yet one weapon left 
you — quinine. You eat it in powders, drink it in solutions, 
and swallow it made up into pills, and if that does not help, 
you are invalided home. 

The flea is another enemy you have to deal with. In 
one way he is more to be feared than the mosquito, for he 
spreads the plague. In the crowded bazars and native 
houses, there are always a lot of rats. On these rats the 
flea lives and thrives. Now, rats are subject to the plague. 
When a rat gets the plague and dies, the fleas will leave 
the dead body, and likely as not go and bite a human being- 
next and in that way transfer the plague. 

W^ar is therefore waged against the rats, but it is no easy 
matter to exterminate them, where one has to deal with 
narrowminded, fanatical Hindus, who shield the rat under 
the plea that all life is sacred. And when they believe that 
the spirit of some of their ancestors have come back to 
live with them in the body of a rat, you cannot reasonably 



86 SKETCHES FROM SANTALTSTAN. 

expect much assistance from them in their extermination. 

y\mong tlie Santals rats are not very safe. Ivoasted rat 
is a delicacy much coveted, especially by Santal boys. 

There is yet another dangerous member of the bug 
family which ought to come in for some consideration. To 
mention his name would perhaps not be polite, so we shall 
speak of him as the B-flat bug. His home is preferably the 
cracks and joints of the native's bedstead, or in the floor 
mats, where people sleep, and his food is human blood. 

For some time scientists have suspected Mr. I)-flat. and 
now they have proved their case. They have found him 
guilty of transferring the germs of leprosy from one per- 
son to another. Everywhere in this land there are lepers. 
They often travel about from place to place exhibiting their 
horrid sores and stumpy hands and feet, while begging for 
alms, l^eople pity them, give them food and shelter, often 
giving them one of their beds or mats to sleep on. Perhaps 
after the lapse of several years it becomes known, that 
some member of the charitable family has contracted the 
dreaded disease. The bug. having fed on the body of the 
leper, next bites someone, who has not got the disease, 
transferrins' the eerms to him. 



"W^ ■ ^mm 



#p^jMgg^^^g| 



LEOPARDS. 



Old Santals can tell lis ahoni the time, when the great- 
est part of 3antahstan was covered with dense 'jungle, 
which was the home of tigers, leopards, bears, wild boar, 
buffaloes, elephants, deer and other animals. The Santals 
are both by jjrofession and inclination clearers of jungle, 
grubbers and diggers. They started to clear the forest, and 
the fight began. The royal keeper of the jungle, the Ben- 
gal tiger, would not surrender his home and haunts without 
a fight. ' Many and weird are the stories told in the thresh- 
ing-places of an evening about this fight. His royal high- 
ness was beaten. The long ironheaded arrows and spears 
as well as the traps of the alert conquerer of the jungle 
proved too much for him, he had to retreat. 

Once in a while even now-a-days a tiger may stray into 
the district, bnt they are not at all common. However, the 
caves, where the oldtime man-eaters used to reside, are to 
be seen until this day. At the mouth of one cave I turned 
over the remains of two human skulls, ghastly souvenirs, 
which went to prove that the famous man-eating monsters, 
of whom the Santals tell such legendary tales, were not 
entirely mythical. 

87 



88 SKETCHES I'TvOM SANTALISTAN. 

But I was going to tell about the leopards. They arc 
relatives of the tiger, but there is no royal blood in their 
veins, that is certain. Compared with the tiger, they are 
lowbred, narrowminded and sneaky animals. They have 
made their home in the rocky hills and patches of jungle 
about us. At night they prowl about the villages and carry 




SANTAL ARCHER. 



away dogs, goats and even pigs. Y^s, they do not even 
draw the line at a longi egged, razorback, brushbristle fac- 
tory of a Santal pig. But their favorite dish seems to be 
the ordinary pnriah dog. In the villages about Gombro 
hill there is hardly a yellow dog left to yelp at the moon. 
The leopards have eaten them all. And if you judge them 



LEOPARDS. 89 

according to the rule: "Tell me what you eat and I will 
tell you who you are," the leopards would not get very high 
marks on the character rolls. 

In a year's time no less than four leopards were killed 
near our Kaerabani station. Two of our Christian workers 
are responsible for the death of one. 

Early one morning I heard a man's voice at my door 
calling excitedly: ''Saheb, lend us your rifle!" 

The man was so excited and out of breath from run- 
ning that he could hardly answer my question as to why 
he wanted the rifle. But at last I found out that a leopard 
had been located in a little patch of jungle near his village. 
I gave the man an old army rifle we had at the station, a 
few cartridges, and some good advice, and off he went at 
a gallop. I also sent off another hunter wath a shotgun and 
bullets. 

About noon T saw a long procession of people coming 
up the road towards the Mission. In the van was the dead 
leopard suspended from a bamboo pole carried by two 
sturdy Santals. Then came the two hunters with their 
guns. Following them were all the small boys within the 
radius of several miles, all talking and gesticulating, and 
evidently, discussing the events of the hunt. 

There was the "big pussy," as the Santals called it, with 
a large bullet hole in it's forehead and another in it's 
shoulder. It was a young male leopard, measuring a little 
more than six feet from tip of nose to tip of tail. The old 
Snyder rifle in the hands of Boroda had done the job well. 
The leopard had taken refuge in a cleft between two rocks. 
The first shot broke it's shoulder and as it was about to 
drag itself out another bullet in the forehead ended its 
earthly career. 

The people from the nearest villages soon gathered to 



LEOPARDS. ^1 

fret- a look at the dead "pussy."" Some of them hrought 
their small children, and though they screamed from fright, 
yet they were made to touch the dead animal. The Santals 
have a superstition that if a child is fussy and cries at night 
the best cure for it is to make it touch a leopard or any 
other ferocious animal. The leopard skin was given to me, 
and the Santals had a feast on the flesh. 

Another time the same men got the rifle and went out 
and shot a striped hyena near the Mission station. A family 
of those so called scavengers of the desert had taken up 
their abode in a cave near by. When the head of the family 
was killed the others soon disappeared. The Santals ate 
the flesh of the hyena, also. And when I chaffed them 
about their appetites they told me that the flesh was fat 
and nice and made an excellent curry. 

The Santals love to hunt. \'ery few of them, however, 
have guns. A native cannot keep a gun without first get- 
ting a license from the government. If a gun is found in 
the possession of a native, who has no license, he is prompt- 
ly arrested, fined or imprisoned, and his gun is taken away 
from him. But if they have no guns they have bows and 
arrows and ironheaded spears, and many a wild beast of 
the jungle has fallen before these weapons. From child- 
hood the Santal boys are taught the use of bows and ar- 
rows. They are among the few playthings a 'Santal boy 
possesses, and he uses them diligently. As soon as he is 
big enough to run about he shoots lizards and small birds 
and soon becomes a skilled marksman. 

People often complain that there are but few song-birds 
in the Santal country, which is quite true. Birds of all kinds 
are very scarce, especially in the Santai villages. If one 
goes to a Hindu village one will at once notice the differ- 
ence; there the trees are full of songsters, while in a Santal 



92 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



village even the chirp of a sparrow is rare. For this state 
of affairs the young Santal hunter, I am afraid, must bear 
the blame. 

The Santals can tell many a "tall story" of leopard 
hunts, every one of them, they assure us, being as true as 
true can be. Here is a fair sample. 




A LUCKY SHOT. 



Near some villages about a days march from here, there 
lived some time ago a man-eating leopard. When a 
leopard once tastes human flesh and blood, he will eat no- 
thing else. Among the victims of this leopard was the 
daughter of a village chief. On hearing this the people of 
the neighborhood were deeply stirred, and when the chief 
called for volunteers to help him hunt the leopard, a large 



LEOPARDS. 93 

number of young men came forward. Together with the 
chief they went out determined to kill the monster. 

From early morning they beat the jungle, but they saw 
no sign of the animal. Late in the afternoon the village 
chief in some way became separated from his followers and 
wandered about alone. Suddenly he stood almost face to 
face with his enemy. Quick as thought an iron-pointed, 
reed arrow was fitted to the bowstring, a twang was heard 
and the arrow went into the shoulder of the animal. The 
wounded brute, now furious from pain, at once sprang at 
the chief. The latter dropped his bow and shinned up the 
nearest sal tree. lUit the tree happened to be a small one 
and being young and supple it began to bend over as he 
neared the top. 

When the chief realized the situation he said to the leo- 
pard: "A few days ago you ate my daughter, and today it 
looks as if you will eat me." 

He then jumped to the ground and the leopard began 
to chase him around the tree. Fortunately the chief got 
hold of the leopard's tail and saved himself by always keep- 
ing the tree between himself and the furious animal, all 
the time shouting for help. 

When his hunting comrades at last arrived both the 
leopard and the chief were thoroughly exhausted. The 
animal was killed, but the skin was spoiled because most 
of the hair was worn off from the tail by the rubbing it 
had received against the rough bark of the tree. 

Once we had a magistrate in the district, who was a 
keen hunter. IIg asked that word might be sent him if 
leopards were heard of in the neighborhood. A few days 
afterwards I had occasion to do so. The next morning otit 
he came bringing with him two more Europeans and a few 
extra rifles. From the nearest villages I had secured some 



9i SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

beaters, who brought with them several big (h'ums and a 
number of dogs. 

The magistrate arranged the hunt. The beaters were 
to start their beating in one end of the jungle in such a 
manner that the leopard when running away from them 
would not have to go against the sun. Being of the cat 
family the leopard prefers to go away from the sun rather 
than against it. 

Rifles, and munition were then distributed and each of 
us Europeans were assigned places along the brow of the 
hill on the course which the leopard was expected to take, 
when the hunt began. Each one of us had a few Santals 
with him. 

At a given signal the hunt began. Drums were beating, 
the Santals were shouting, their dogs w^ere barking, — in 
short pandemonium broke loose. There was noise enough 
to frighten even the proverbial dead donkey. The narrow 
belt of jungle in which we were stationed was so dense that 
any animal smaller than an elephant could easily h.ave pas- 
sed within a hundred feet of us without being noticed. 

The beaters were slowly coming down our way. We 
were all alert, gun, spear, arrow or stick in hand ready to 
give an account of ourselves should the leopard come our 
way. Ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes passed. The 
thing was beginning to get tedious, I thought. Then all of 
a sudden a Santal in front of me grew rigid. He turned an 
intensely drawn and fierce face toward me and whispered : 
"He is near us." We renewed our vigils and strained both 
eye and ear, but a regiment of leopards might well have 
passed us unobserved in that dense jungle. 

After a reasonable pause I asked the man, how he could 
tell that the leoj^ard was near. He replied: "I felt it in 
my body, every liair on my body rose and I felt that the • 



LEOPARDS. 



95 



animal was near us. It must have passed down this way." 
Then he led us into the jungle and showed us a few claw- 
marks, a broken twig, and a crushed leaf, as proof, posi- 
tive that the leopard had passed unchallenged within thirty 
yards of us. 

The Santals are sons of the jungle and live nearer na- 




THE CHURCH LEOPARD. 



turc than we do, hence this strange sixth scnce of feeling 
the nearness of an enemy bcfor seeing or hearing it. 

])Ut the most exciting leopard hunt we have had hap- 
])ened at Benagaria, the old head station of our mission. 
One morning a young man came and told us that he had 
seen a suspicious looking animal in a culvert hv the big water 
reservoir, or tank, as it is commonl)- called. He thought it 



96 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

Avas a leopard. This we could not believe as those animals 
very seldom come into this neighborhood, but thought it 
must be a hyena, or perhaps a jackel, the man had seen. 
Uut to make sure we went over and had a peek into the 
hole. And true enough, there lay a leopard glaring at us 
from out of the semi-darkness of the culvert. Its eyes 
looked like two burning coals, and as we were unarmed 
we thought it best to keep at a safe distance. 

All the available weapons at the mission consisted of 
an old pistol and a double barrel shot gun of which one of 
the barrels was cracked and useless. It was clear that if 
the leopard was to be killed it would have to be done Ijy 
strategy. If we shot at it and wounded it someone would 
be sure to be either mauled or killed by it, as a wounded 
leopard is one of the most dangerous animals to have to 
deal with. 

Quite a number of men gathered and we held a council 
of war. After discussing the pros and cons, public opin- 
ion seemed to concur in that drowning would be both as 
safe and painless a death as we could think of for the leo- 
pard. 

The hole or culvert in which the animal had taken re- 
fuge is an opening about three feet high and the same 
width, running through an earth embankment, which is 
over fifty feet wide. Tlie outer end of the culvert we de- 
cided to block up with an old door, and at the other end 
which comes out a couple of feet above the water of the 
reservoir we would place a large, strong fish-net. The plan 
was to get J\Ir. Spots to leave his refuge by the back door, 
get tangled up in the net and dragged into the water, where 
we thought we could dispatch him in ease and comfort. 

People were gathering fast. How they found out that 
a hunt was on, I do not know. But within an hour there 



LEOPARDS. 97 

must have been about a hundred men present, all of them 
more or less excited over the prospect of a real hunt. Some 
of them had spears, some had stout sticks, but many had no 
weapons of any kind. The old pistol and gun were then 
loaded and given to the sharpshooters, the net -brought 
forth and everything got into shape. First the outer en- 
trance was blocked, then the net was spread before the 
inner opening and the signal given for a vigorous dnun- 
ming at the old door to frighten the animal out the way 
we wanted it to come. 

Everybody was now trembling with excitement, the 
nervous strain was awful. Suddenly a low growl was heard 
and a large head protruded from the culvert exhibiting a 
splendid set of teeth. The half a dozen or more who were 
holding the net dropped it and ran up the bank as fast as 
their legs could carry them. One look at that white dinner- 
set in the head of the leopard was enough for them. The 
wav being clear the leopard walked leisurely over the net 
and up the bank to look for another hiding place. Fortu- 
nately the man with the gun did not fire and the animal 
trotted leisurely along towards an old limekiln. On closer 
inspection it was evidently not satisfied with the place as 
a refuge for one whose life was in danger, so it made for 
the church. 

Whether it was instinct or some other and deeper rea- 
son which, prompted the liunted leapord to look upon the 
mission church as a safe refuge is a c^uestion which could 
be discussed in another cliapter. The fact is that it went 
straight to the church and jumped on to the veranda on 
the north side and began to look for an open door. But 
all the doors were closed. We saw what it wanted and 
sent a man around to the other side to open a door for it. 
This being done, we slowly persuaded it to proceed around 



98 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

to the south side, where it spied the open door, and the 
darkness inside was an invitation to it to enter. The door 
was at once closed and bolted and we started to take ])ot 
shots at it through the "jilmils" of the doors. On being 
wounded it roared furiously. Never has such a powerful 
voice been heard in the Benas^aria church. 




A HUNT. 



The chiuxh proved to be a very poor refuge for the 
leopard, but an ideal place for the hunters. Someone was 
pumping buckshot into it all the time. Finally it went be- 
hind the organ and lay down and one of our carpenters, a 
Santal. Makai by name, got a chance to send a bullet through 
it§ neck which finished it. T'ut in its death agony it bit 
large pieces out of the woodwork of the organ. 



LEOPARDS. 



99 



It was an old male leopard which measured seven feet 
from tip to tip. All day it lay on exhibition, and the whole 
neighborhood turned out to have a look at it. Old medi- 
cinemen begged with moist eyes that they might get leave 
to take away a few hairs from the leopards whiskers, from 
which to make a charm for some of their sick friends. 




THE VILLAGE WHEELWRIGHT. 



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SNAKES. 



India is a great country for snakes. It is said that the 
snake family is represented here by more than two hun- 
dred distinct species. Fortunately they are not all poison- 
ous. Only thirty three kinds are dangerous to life, the 
chief among which is the cobra. 

The cobra is not a very large snake. It is seldom in 
this district more than three and a half feet long, but it is 
a vicious brute. It does not flee from its natural enemy, 
man, but is ever willing and ready to fight. It is a horrid 
sight to see an angry cobra curled up, its raised head sway- 
ing from side to side, hissing, ready to strike a death blow 
at its enemy. One remembers that this little reptile yearly 
murders thousands and thousands of people. 

\Adien angry, the cobra expands the skin of its neck un- 
til it appears like a hood. On this hood are to be traced 
two round or oblong rings tliat look like a pair of spectac- 
les. The hiss of the cobra is not unlike that of a goose. 
In the up])er jaw, well forward, it has two sharp poisonous 
fangs. They are constructed so that they fold back when 
;not in use; they are hollow and a small duct leads up from 

100 



SNAKRS. 



101 



them to the poison glands in the cheeks. When the crea- 
ture is angry, the fangs are erected and it strikes forward, 
puncturing the skin of its victim and injecting the poison. 
When hitten Idv a cobra a strong man will only live for an 
hour or two, so powerful is the poison. 




SNAKE CHARMER. 



The first cobra victim I saw was a young Mohammedan 
woman. She was standing beside the wall of her house 
when a cobra darted out of a hole and bit her. At once 
she called her people and told them what had happened, 
and with as little delay as possible they brought her to the 



102 SKETCHES FKOM: SANTA LISTAN. 

native doctor at the mission only halt a mile away. Within 
a few minutes after she was bitten she was so weak that 
she had to be carried. The doctor gave her a snakebite re- 
miedy and ordered her to be walked about and excercised 
so as to keep up her circulation. The poison attacks the 
involuntary muscles. 

Some men dug the cobra out and brought it also to the 
mission. It was nearly four feet long and everyone who 
saw it declared it to be the largest cobra they had ever 
seen. 

In spite of all the remedies the woman gradually grew 
weaker. Her legs became quite paralyzed and she was un- 
able to move. The doctor said there was no hope for her, 
yet he did not give up, but had people hel]) him to rub her 
arms and legs, nevertheless she sank gradually and within 
an hour she was dead. 

When she was lying on the ground unconscious and the 
doctor had given her up, some Alohammedan women, her 
friends and relatives, broke small branches from a tree 
near by, scjuatted about the dying woman, and began to 
draw these branches down her body all the time repeating 
incantations. I asked the doctor what they were doing. 
He shrugged his shoulder and said : 

They are saying "mantras." 

Why do they say ''mantras?" 

With another shrug of shoulder he answered : "These 
people are very superstitious and think that "mantras" or 
incantations can save her life." 

How sad to see their helplessness ! Nothing but empty 
incantations to put against the potent poison of the cobra. 

All cases of snakebite do not, however, terminate fatal- 
ly. While at Kaerabani we had several which were all 
saved. I must tell vou about one or two of them. 



SNAKES. 10.T 

The Jarta family in the nearest village had decided to 
leave their "Bongas" and become Christians. They had 
received instruction and the day of their baptism had been 
fixed. We were all looking forward to the day when we 
could welcome them as members of the church. 

On Saturday afternoon, the day before the baptism was 
to take place, while I was having a language lesson in the 
veranda, a young lad came up and told us that Jarta's wife 
had been bitten by a snake, that she was unconscious and 
had been carried to the house of the village headman, who 
was a heathen. 

We started at once for the headman's house about half 
a mile away. When we reached it we found the ]ioor wo- 
man unconscious, her feet and hands were cold, her pulse 
very faint and her breathing was very slow. Three or four 
women were sitting about her with twigs in their IkukIs 
saying "mantras" and weeping. They were all heatlicn. I 
had brought a lancet and some permanganate of ])otash to 
rub into the place where the snake had bitten her, but we 
could not find the wound, and the woman in her uncons- 
cious state was, of course, unable to tell us. So we decided 
to take her to the mission house and try some other reme- 
dies which we had. We then lifted her on to a Santal bed- 
stead and four men carried her to the mission bungalow. 
We ran the greatest part of the way against a heavy shower 
of rain, for it was in the rainy season, and when we reached 
the bungalow we were all as wet as we could be. 

As we ran we laid the case before the Lord. If the 
woman should die, the heathen in the neighborhood would 
say that the "Bongas" or evil spirits had killed her because 
she was about to become a Christian. And the result would 
be that many, who were under conviction, and who were 



104 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

almost persuaded, would perhaps draw back and be lost to 
the Kingdom. 

Humanly speaking there was little hope for the womaii 
but we put the case in God's hand and determined to work 
as long as there were any signs of life. 

Her mouth had to be forced open to get the medicine 
in, and by manipulating her throat she was made to swal- 
low it. We rubbed her limbs, tried to restore respiration, 
and put hot water bottles about her, all the time calling on 
the Healer of man to raise her up. Several heathen neigh- 
bors from the village were there watching us, wondering 
what would happen. I cannot explain how eagerly we 
looked for signs of life. We must have worked a quarter 
of an hour with her when we noticed that her pulse was 
getting stronger, and, as we placed a hot water bottle 
against her back, she winced and groaned. A few minutes 
later she opened her eyes, gazed about her in a half dazed 
way, then stretching out her arms she said : "Where is 
my baby?" The victory was won. In a short time she was 
able to walk about. Our hearts were overflowing with 
praise and thanksgiving. 

She was able to tell us afterwards that she went out to 
cut broom grass, and as she was working a cobra darted 
out and bit her foot. At once she started for the mission, 
but after running a little ways she got so faint, that she 
had to sit down. Fortunately there were some shepherd 
boys near by, to whom she could tell what had hapj^cned 
before she lost consciousness. One of those boys came and 
told us. 

The next morning she was able to come to church and, 
standing beside her husband and children before the con- 
gregation, she confessed her faith in God and with her 



BNAKI<:S. 105 

family received holy baptism. It was indeed a day of re- 
joicing for the little mission congregation. 

About a year later a Christian woman from the same 
village was carried to our house. She had been found un- 
conscious under a tree. AVe at once suspected snake poi- 
son and began to treat her in the same way as Jarta's wife. 
When she regained consciousness she told us that a cobra 
had darted out from its hole among the roots of the tree 
and with a vicious hiss had struck her. She at once gave 
herself up for lost, committed her soul to her Maker, and 
fainted away. Her little daughter playing near by, noticed 
that something was the matter with her mother, at once 
ran home to tell her big brother. With as little delay as 
possible the young man got help to bring her to the. mission. 
After a few hours the woman was able to w^alk home, 
leaning on her son, but it took her several days to get over 
the effects of the poison. 

Some time later I had another snake experience which 
I shall not forget very soon. Together with several of our 
native preachers I was doing evangelistic work in a dis- 
trict about ten miles to the north of our mission station. 
We were staying at a Government rest-house. It was in 
March and the weather was beginning to get hot, and the 
mosquitoes were very troublesome. In the evening I put 
my bed in the center of the room and left the doors on both 
sides open to get the benefit of whatever draught there 
might be. Beside my bed was a table on which were some 
tin cans and dishes. Two servants .were sleeping on the 
veranda. They had their sticks with them. In fact when 
out in camp the Santals have a practice of going to bed 
with their sticks. There are snakes and scorpions, jackals 
and pariah dogs about, and a weapon may be required at 

anv time. 



106 SKpyrCHES FROM S ANT ALT STAN. 

About three o'clock in the morning I was awakened by 
a scraping, rasping noise among the tin cans on the table. 
There was a lantern in the room, but the light was turned 
down very low. In the dim light I thought I saw something 
resembling a rope stretched from one tin can to another 
within easy reach of my hand. I got the lantern, turned 
up the light, and there instead of a rope was a large snake, 
fixing me with his cold, beady eyes. 

I called for my men with their sticks and between us 
we soon dispatched the snake, and that without breaking a 
single dish. It was not a cobra but was a so-called "kha- 
rite," a tree snake, very poisonous but not so quick to strike 
as a cobra. The snake had evidently beett looking for a 
way to get into the thatch of the roof where a lot of spar- 
rows had taken up their abode, and in order to get on to 
the table it must have climbed up the bedpost right by my 
head. Xo more sleep that night ! 

Tobacco acts on the cobra something in the same way 
that it's poison acts on a human being. Once I gave a co- 
bra a tap on its head with my stick and stunned it. Then I 
asked a Santal for a little tobacco. This I put in the cleft 
of a stick and thrust it into the mouth of the angry snake 
and then let him go. At once he spread his hood, hissed 
and raised his head and we all kept at a safe distance. But 
it didn't last long, soon he seemed to get drowsy. His head 
came down, and he acted as if he were drunk. No amount 
of teasing would arouse him. Finally we pronounced him 
dead. 

I said to the Santals : Now you can see what a great 
poison tobacco is that it kills even a cobra. 

Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the performance 
and someone made the remark that the cobra was perhaps 
only drunk from the effects of the tobacco, and that it 



SNAKES. 107 

would come to life again. So we put the snake in an old 
earthen pot and covered it up, and the next morning there 
was no doubt that the cobra was dead "for good and al- 
ways." Since then we have tried the tobacco experiment 
several times and it always works out the same way. To- 
bacco is poison for the cobra. 

The natives are very much afraid of cobras, and well 
they may be, for their bare feet and legs make an easy tar- 
get for the poisonous fangs of the snake. When out at 
night people often carry long sticks with which they beat 
the road in front of them. In that way they mean to 
frighten away any snake which may be about. 

Once we had a ^yTohammedan living in our compound. 
He was a Sheik and thought himself a very brave man, 
afraid of nothing imder the sun. 'Early one morning I 
saw him throwing stones and brickbats in through the 
open door of his house, all the time shouting at the top of 
his voice. At first I thought he had lost what little reason 
he had, and was running amuck, but finally I distinguished 
the word ''sap," which means snake, and went over to see 
what was up. There in a corner of the man's room was a 
large cobra with hood expanded hissing away ready for 
business. A good whack across his neck soon settled him 
and he was brought out hanging limp from my stick. The 
Sheik salaamed and said : ''The Saheb knows mantras." 

During the hot weather snake-charmers often come to 
show us their pets and to make them "dance" for us as 
they express it. They carry their pets about in small, 
covered baskets. When they want to give an exhibition 
they squat on the ground and place the baskets in a row in 
front of them. Then they beat a little rattledrum and play 
some weird music on an instrument made from gourd. One 
by one the covers are then removed and the cobras raise 



108 



SKETCHES FROM SANTAL]STAN. 



llieir hooded heads and sway from side to side, or bol) iip 
and down while the snake-chanper and his assistant "make 
music." Of course the men are careful to remove the 
fangs from the poisonous snakes before taking- them out to 
exhibit. 

Sometimes they carry about with them great p3^thons 




THE SNAKE CHARMER. 

more than ten feet long and wind them about their necks 
and bodies. 

In Benares one day we saw a snake that looked as if it 
had a head at both ends. The Hindus call it the two-head- 
ed snake, but on closer examination it a]3pears that one of 
the heads is only a blunt tail. 







1 


wrt 


^ 



THE RAINS. 



The rains are supposed to make their appearance about 
the middle of June every year, and last in this district until 
the middle of September. Why it is called "rains" and not 
simply "rain" no one can explain, but after spending a 
rainy season or two in this country you will ask no ques- 
tions, but think the designation quite proper. 

For a couple of months before the rains set in it is very 
hot and dry. So dry in fact that the ground cracks. The 
sun beats down from a brazen cloudless sky scorching 
everything. The leaves shrivel up and fall like after a frost 
at home. And all living things suffer. Even the crow has 
nothing much to say, but hops about gaping ridiculously. 
And anything that can silence the Indian crow is not 
likely to be a fake, that is certain. 

Yellow pariah dogs h.op about on three legs resting one 
at the time from the scorching heat of tlie road. And dust 
is thick everywhere. Then it is that people travel by night 
and get under a shelter before the sun has passed one fourth 
of the sky. 

About this time one begins to get interested in the week- 

109 



110 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALTSTAN. 



\y weather report of the government meteorological depart- 
ment to see if they have located the monsoon or not, and if 
they have, how far up it has got. It is to come up through 
the Bay of Bengal and bring new life to scorched and thir 
sty millions. 

Before the rains set in we sometimes iret thunder- 











PLOWING. 



storms. They usually come on in the afternoon and from 
the west. First a black cloud is seen overhanging the west- 
ern sky. As it draws nearer it changes color. First gray 
then yellow, then purple. The rumbling of thunder- is 
heard. In a few minutes the landscape is" blotted out. 
Dust, dead leaves, more dust flies about you, envelopes 



THE RAINS. Ill 

you, and gets into your eyes and nose. Trees are blown 
over, thatch torn from the roof. All doors and shutters 
are closed. It is dark, almost like night. The storm howls. 
Blinding flashes of lightning pierce the dusty gloom. The 
very foundations of the house quake from the claps of 
thunder. 

The result of this tremendous uproar may be only a 
few scattered drops of rain, or it may be a hailstorm ac- 
companied by a copious downpour filling the dried up tanks 
and water courses, strewing the compound with leaves and 
debris, but relieving the heat for a few days. However 
this is not the "rains." 

They come on the fifteenth of June. A soft wind from 
the south east swishes through the palms. White clouds 
come up. A drizzle falls upon the parched ground. More 
clouds hurry across the sky to bring relief to all living be- 
ings. It rains and rains. The mailrunner brings the news- 
paper. It is soaked, but you read with satisfaction the 
broad headlines : "The Monsoon has burst." 

In a day or two the bare sunbaked ground is trans- 
formed. Green, green everywhere. The fireflies dart in 
and out among the tender leaves of the teak and tamerind 
trees. The gold mohar tree is ablaze with red flowers. 
Everything is throbbing with life. 

Frogs croak everywhere. Some of them bray like goats. 
The crow has found its voice and caws with impunity. 

The Santal puts away his superfluous clothes, oils his 
skin, gets his plow out and repairs it and looks as if he is 
going to get busy. Even the laziest of the lazy seems to 
have gotten some energy. It is the influence of the rainy 
season on the sons of the soil. 

Too much spoils everything. Rain all day, rain all 
night. You are longing" for a glimpse of the sun, because 



112 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



you want to set 3^our clock right, but it persists in hiding 
•itself and yon feel lonesome for it. 

Damp and wet all over, everywhere. Xo dry clothes to 
put on. They are all damp. Your pillow is damp. Your 
furniture seems to perspire. Your shoes — well you re- 
member distinctly that they were black yesterday — today 
they are nearly white, covered with mould. 




PLOWING. 



Then one morning the sun comes out gloriously bright. 
Then is your opportunity to get your rooms and clothes 
dried. 

h'rom misty morning til evening dusk cvei-ybody is busy 
in tlie fields. First tlie embankments between the ricefields 
must be repaired so tlie water will stay in them. Then the 



THE RAINS. 



113 



water-covered field is plowed two or three times with a 
little wooden plow drawn by a pair of humpbacked oxen. 
When the field is ready, the little rice shoots are brought 
and set out by the women wallowing knee deep in the mud. 
Soon field after field is planted, turns dark green as the 
shoots take root and grow. The landscape is transformed. 
The desert is truly blossoming. 



> * - w 




A REAPER. 



About the steaming hot nights, the mosquitoes and the 
tired feeling you do not wish to talk. You feel you are a 
foreigner because the rains do not infuse you with energy. 
It is rather the other way. You do not want to admit that 
you get lazy, but you observe in yourself a strange disin- 
clination to work. You want a long chair under the swing- 



114 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

ing panka where you can lie back in comfort and dream of 
the old homestead way out on the western prairies of God's 
country. You close your eyes and see it. A cool breeze 
fans your cheek, light fleecy clouds chase each other a- 
cross the deep blue Minnesota sky. The wheat-fields look 
like a billowy sea. The air is full of the breath of new- 
mown hay. You dream. 

"Saheb, they have brought a girl with a broken arm," 
says a soft voice beside you. It startles you. You have 
not heard the footsteps of your servant as he came to tell 
you. You were far away. Dreams aside, now it is work. 




SCENE FROM KAERABANI. 




A NIGHT IN A DAK BUNGALOW. 



It is Hindustan, and evening, and a lonesome Dak bun- 
galow or government rest-bouse by tbe side of a long and 
dusty road. Tbe sun bas just set across tbe bazy hills in 
eastern Cbota Nagpore. Sucb a sunset ! An Oriental suti- 
set ! As tbe yellow disr descended bebind tbe billtops it 
drew before its mysterious exit a curtain of glowing red. 
A few moments its gauzy web bung over tbe western sky ; 
soon it softened into saffron, wbicb again slowly yielded 
to prosaic gray. 

Tben came tbe sbort truce between ligbt and darkness — ■ 
wbicb men call twiligbt — tbe "Hinterland" of day, tbe 
borderland between tbe world of deeds and tbe world of 
dreams. 

Tbe new moon outlines its silvery sickle against tbe 
background of gatbering gloom. 

From tbe native quarters bebind tbe bungalow tbe el- 
ders and teachers are chanting sleepily. It is one of those 
A-eird chants which for tbe western ear possesses no melody 
save the melody of infinite sadness. It is one of the old 
Santal chants, to wbicb Christian words have been com- 

115 



116 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



posed. To the ear of a novice the tunes are nearly all 
alike. And not only those of the Santals, but also those of 
the other natives of the land, as well. The words and me- 
ter may vary, but the cadence in the main is the same. — - 
It is the song of Hindustan — the dirge of one lamenting 
his long-departed youth and its divine illusions. 




A LONELY BUNGALOW. 



If you listen a while to that song, so spiritless and tune- 
less and endless, you can hear the servitude of millions, of 
myriads of men and women who have learned in suffering 
something which they try to teach in song. The essence of 
centuries of longings and heartaches and frustrated hopes 
is trying to find expression in one dreamy, plaintive re- 
frain. 



A NIGHT IN A DAK BUNGALOW. 117 

But nigiit is here. Yon walk forth and back on the ve- 
randa while your servant is trying to set your supper-table 
on an upturned grocery box. 

The sounds of day are hushed and the voices of the 
night are heard. The moon is disappearing. The blades of 
yonder palm are silhouetted against the starry sky, blades 
as delicately curved as the' edge of a scimitar. Among the 
branches of the mango trees a few fireflies gleam inter- 
mittently, illuminating nothing but themselves. And the 
cricket sings. This is a land where the cricket chirps 
through all the year, and his song is melancholy, plaintive 
and dreamy, like the song of the other natives of the land. 

In the solitude of the hot, sleepless nights the cricket is 
your companion and counselor. How intimate his song 
can grow. You read into those monotonous strains all 
your emotions until you cease to have any. Teh. tch, tch ! 
It sounds as if it had been ringing from the beginning of 
time and was destined to go on ringing to the end. 

At first it irritates you, then it depresses ; but in the end 
it dominates you. Struggle as you will, you are doomed to 
succumb to its soothing strains. Tch, tch, tch ! Night after 
night, it seems to din into your ear the essence of eternal 
monotony. 

But the crickets are not your only companions and coun- 
selors. They only bring the refrain to the music of the un- 
seen world. 

Your eye as well as your ear is subject to the spell of 
night. The moon has now disappeared and there is the 
march of the stars, — a mighty host, ever moving on- 
ward, slow, solemn and silently eloquent. Here they 
scintillate in companies, there they shine in awful isolation. 
Some burn with a steady, penetrating- brilliance, which 
seems to pierce your very soul, others twinkle, as it were. 



118 SKETCHES FROM SANTALiSTAN. 

in unison with the notes of tlie cricket. The song of the 
universe, the music of the spheres — let them call it what 
they will — but the spell of the night is upon you — and 
the spell of the mysterious East. 

''Khana Saheb !" calls you back to things terrestrial. 
On your box is your curry and rice, the food of the East. 
A few years in Bengal have taught you to like it. Now 
you want it hot with pepper and other condiments, — again 
the influence of the East. 

The Christian workers gather. You discuss the work 
of the day with them and at last commit yourself and them 
into the hands of Him who sleepeth not. 

Your "charpoi" palmetto mat and blankets are ready. 
With a "johar," the servant disappears into the night. You 
are alone with your own thoughts — and the crickets. You 
turn the light of the lantern low, and as you do so the trade 
mark on the lantern chimney catches your eye. You read 
the words : "Made in Austria." 

"Made in Austria — made in Austria" — The cricket 
takes up the words and fits them into his notes and chirps 
them into your soul. You try to rid yourself of them, but 
you cannot ; you are under his spell. You want him to say 
"America" and not "Austria," but he persists. At last you 
give up and say : "What's the difference. Austria or Amer- 
ica? it is exotic, foreign, anyway. Let it go with ''Au- 
stria." Finally his song seems to grow fainter and fainter. 
From the far away distance is wafted back to you, from the 
the shores of the sea of stillness, faintly, very faintly, 
"Austria — A u s t r i a." 



■>r^ 



^ 




WITCHES. 



The belief in witches and witchcraft is firmly rooted in 
the hearts and minds of the Santal. However, the Santals 
are not alone about this belief, it is common both among 
the Hindus and Mohammedans in this district. Almost 
daily the magistrates in our courts have to hear cases in 
which women are accused of witchcraft, or some trouble 
has arisen at the bottom of which this belief is to be found. 

In their old "Sagas" or traditions the Santals tell us 
how it was brought about that they learned the craft. 

"Once long, long ago the Santal men met together to 
discuss the question, what they ought to do with their 
wives. They were entirely out of hand and did not obey 
their husbands. When asked to do a thing, or on being 
corrected by their husbands as the head of the familv, the 
women would turn around and abuse and scold them. And 
as everyone knows, when it comes to abuse, a man is no 
match for a woman. The men agreed to carry their griev- 
ances to Marang Burn, the devil, and ask his assistance. 

At midnight they gathered in the sacred grove, called 
Marang Burn, and addressing him as grandfather laid 

119 



120 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

their troubles before him. The old man very graciously 
consented to help them. He would give them occult power 
which would enable them to defend themselves against 
the wiles of their women. Before he granted them the pow- 
er they would, however, have to make their signatures on 
his documents in their own blood. He gathered some leaves 
from a sacred tree and asked the men to draw blood and 
put their marks on the leaves. This frightened the men 
and they asked their grandfather to kindly excuse them 
for the time being, they would return the next night and 
sign the documents. 

Unknown to the men some women had followed them 
to the grove and from their hiding place heard everything 
that was said. When they saw the men arise they hurried 
home by a short cut, and before the men arrived all the 
women in the village knew just exactly how the land lay. 

The next day the men found a great change in their 
women-folks. They were as amiable and nice as they could 
be and the men began to think that it would not be neces- 
sary for them to sign Marang Biu'us documents. The 
next night they did not return to the grove as they had 
promised. On the following day the women were stilT more 
loving and kind to them, gave them extraordinary good 
things to eat. brewed rice beer and gave them so much of 
it that by night they were dead drunk. 

This was the opportunity the women were looking for. 
They took their husbands clothes and turbans, pasted some 
goatshair on their upper lips and at midnight started for 
the sacred grove. After having saluted their grandfather 
they asked him to bring his leaves that they might sign 
them, for they could no longer endure the torments of 
their wives. 

Marang Burn brought the leaves, the women pricked 



WITCHES. 121 

their skins with thorns, pressed out a drop of blood and 
signed their husbands' marks on the leaves. Alarang Burn 
then taught them witchcraft and gave them full directions 
how to "eat people/" Before cock's crow they returned to 
their homes rejoicing. 

After their debauch the men slept rather late the next 
morning and were not in the best of humor when they at 
last got about. They very soon found out that their women 
had not reformed after all. They were worse than ever. 
Again they had a consultation and decided to go that very 
night and put their marks on Marang Burns leaves. 

When they told their grandfather what they wanted he 
was very much surprised and said: "I have already taught 
you. What more do you want?" But the men declared that 
they had not been near him since the first night when he 
asked them to sign and they promised that they would re- 
turn the next night. Alarang Burn, however, brought out 
the leaves and asked the men to see for themselves if it was 
their marks or not. They had to admit the marks but de- 
clared that they did not put them there. 

When Marang Burn at last imderstood that the women 
had deceived both himself and their husbands he got into 
a great rage and swore that they would yet get even with 
those rascally women. He got some more leaves and asked 
the men to put their marks on them. This they did as di- 
rected and Alarang Burn then set out to teach them the 
art of the Jan Guru, how to find out witches. And ever 
since that time there has been enmity between the witches 
and the Jan Guru. 

The Santals believe that the witches have the'ir meetings 
at night in some sacred grove or forest. When their hus- 
bands are asleep they get up. say some incantations and put 
a broom or some similar object in the bed beside them and 



122 ■ SKETCHES- PROM SANTA LI STAN. 

tlie men, poor fools, feeling the broom beside them believe 
it to be their wives and have no idea of what is really going 
on. 

It is also believed that witches do not walk on the 
ground, but by means of sorcery fly through the air in 
whatever direction they wish. The "Bongas" also appear 
to them and dance and flirt with them. They also play 
with tigers, ride on them, caress, and kiss them. These 
gambols they continue till nearly cock crow, when they re- 
turn to their homes remove the broom and lie down in their 
proper places. 

Witches make pupils of young girls. At night they go 
about from house to house and call for them. Then they 
take them to the sacred grove, teach them "mantras" and 
other things pertaining to the practice of witchcraft. If 
the girls are unwilling to learn they tell them that the ti- 
gers will eat them and thus frighten them into learning. 
When a pupil has advanced far enough they put her to a 
test by asking her to "eat" some one of her own relatives, 
her father, brother or sister. Should a pupil refuse to 
submit herself to this test the witches will make her ill or 
cause her to become demented or mad. Witches must feel 
no mercy for anybody, not even their own husbands and 
children. 

It is very easy for the missionary to ridicule all this 
talk about witches and brand it as silly nonsense, but the 
fact still remains that to the Santals these things are act- 
ual and real. 

The Bonga worship of the Santals is essentially a man's 
religion. Women have almost no place in it. jNIany of 
the sacrifices she may neither touch nor taste. For this 
reason it may be that the women may have felt a desire for 
some sort of worship of their own, that may account for 



WITCHES. 123 

their nightly gambols and offerings. That they possess 
any occnlt power by which they cause their victims to be- 
come sick and die is very improbable. There are plenty of 
herbs and ^"oots which if given to anyone together with 
their food will cause sickness and death. Be that as it may, 
the fact remains that the belief in witchcraft is a supersti- 
tion that dies hard. Every now and then a case will crop 
up among the Christians, where some poor woman is su- 
spected of practicing witchcraft. 

One morning a big Santal came up to me and asked me 
to look at his back and shoulders. One glance at his broad, 
brown back told me that he had been in a fight and had 
rather got the worst of it. He had received a good beating. 

I knew the young man well, and instead of sympathizing 
with him told him that I was ashamed to see that he, a 
giant of a man, had let himself be licked. But my banter 
did not have the desired effect. The young man sat down 
and cried like a baby. He finally told us that his father 
had given him the beating. His father was a thin wea- 
zened old man whom one would not quickly suspect of 
such deeds. 

''Why did your father beat you?" 
"Because I would not send my wife away. How can I 
send her away now, we have three children ; who will take 
care of them if I send her away ?" 

"But why should you send your wife away?" 

Little by little the facts of the case came out. The old 
man and his four sons and their families live close together, 
and, as the custom is among the Santals. work their fields 
jointly and hold a good deal of the property in common. 
Except the oldest son and his family they are all Christians. 
Of late there has been a good deal of sickness in the family 
of the eldest son. Orie medicine man after the other had 



124 



SKETCHES PROM SANTALISTAN. 



been called in without result. At last a medicine man 
greater than all the rest was called in and he succeeded in 
finding out what the trouble was why the medicine did not 
have any power to heal the sick ones. There was a witch 
at the bottom of the trouble. The help of a witch-finder 
Avas then soudit. This disnitary after receiving his fee 




A MEDICINE MAN. 



led the suspicion towards the wife of the second son. He 
did not mention her by name but by hints and parables at 
Avhich they are such adepts, gave the men to understand 
just exactly who was meant. 

On returning from the witch-finder the old man took 
the case in his own hands. The suspected daughter-in-law 
was ordered to make the sick ones well at once. She pro- 



WITCHES. 



125 



tested that she was innocent. Then he ordered her to 
leave her house and family and never to show her face there 
again. On this he got his stick and proceeded to enforce 
his order at once. Then the son interfered with the result 
that he received a good beating. 

We adviced the young man to go home and keep quiet 
for a few days, then we would take up the case and try to 
restore peace. 

A week or two later we gathered the whole family and 
had a heart to heart talk with them. By that time the old 
man was thoroughly ashamed of what he had done and 
ready to sue for terms. We asked him to beg his daughter- 
in-law's forgiveness and to make her a present of a cloth. 
And for the offence he had caused in the church by running 
after witch-finders and believing in their humbug, he was 
asked to drop forty cents in the collection box for the poor. 



^^^f!fS!ffSf!^^ 




Vit.il-dt.i'i sill* aT.it fT.iraT.ir 




THE JAN GURU. 



He is a rather pleasant old man and fond of a joke. 
You will find him squatting on the sunny side of the village 
streets as you pass through. His name is Jarta, or rather 
that is the name he is known hy. What his real name is, I 
do not know. Jarta means matted locks. For years and 
3''ears, perhaps from the time he was a small boy. Jarta's 
hair has never been washed, combed or cut. It has been 
allowed to grow and has through the years gathered itself 
into four or five matted locks stiff with ancient dirt and 
oil. They look like pieces of dirty ropes hanging down his 
back or wound around his head. 

If you look closely at his face you can tell that he is a 
cunning and crafty man. His small sliifting eyes take in 
everything about you at a glance. And cunning and crafty 
he needs to be for he is a Jan Guru and that means a rvdtch- 
finder. 

Jarta is indeed a bad man and has caused a lot of mis- 
chief among his people. Yet he is very nice and polite and 
likes to talk to you, that is as long as you don't talk to him 
about his Savior and the salvation of his soul. As soon as 

126 



THE JAN GURU. 



127 



that subject is broached he becomes quiet, and if you keep 
on lie will get up and leave you ; but he will never dispute or 
argue with you. 

The heathen Santals believe firmly in witchcraft, and 
when they are sick they always fear that some witch is at 
the bottom of their trouble, and, as they express it, is eating 




THE JAN GURU. 



out their insides. Like everyone else a sick Santa! wishes 
to get well as soon as possible, so he sends for an Ojha or 
medicine-man. That dignitary comes, feels the pulse of 
the sick one and shakes his head like a real doctor. He 
then goes out, collects the fi'iends of the patient and gives 
them the result of his diagnosis. He has found the sick 
one in a very bad slate indeed. It must be either "Uunga" 



128 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

or a witch that is causing the mischief. Do the friends 
wish him to find out for them ? 

"Yes, by all means!" they answer. 

The Oj ha then asks his fee. When that is secured he 
gets two leaves from the sal tree, puts a few drops of oil 
on tliem, rubs them against each other and from the marks 
the oil has made on the leaves pretends to read the cause 
of the sickness. If it is found to be a "Bonga" that is 
tormenting the victim, that personality must by means of 
offerings be persuaded to leave. If it is a witch, she must 
be found and brought to terms, and there is where the Jan 
Guru comes in. He alone can tell who the witch is that 
causes the trouble. 

As soon as the relatives of the sick find out that it is 
a witch that is "eating" their friend they lose no time but 
prepare at once to go to some Jan Guru. A whole party 
will go, often one man from each house in the village. 
Their mission is a secret one and they will tell no one 
where they are going and often even get to their destina- 
tion by a circuitous route. This is done to prevent evil 
spirits from putting obstacles in their way. 

Arriving at the village of the Jan Guru, they usually 
have to wait a while before they get an audience. They 
must first send him presents and offerings. When they 
come before him he will ask a number of leading questions 
about the neighbors and relatives of the sick one, and he 
usually manages to get at what he wants without arousing 
the suspicions of the people who have come to him. He 
will find out, perhaps, that the wife of the sick man has 
been quarreling with some other woman in the village who 
has been found guilty of witchcraft before. He will settle 
on some one, and after certain ceremonies are gone through, 
he will begin to describe the house she lives in, her relation 



THE JAN GURU. 129 

'to the sick one and other things about her, so that although 
he names no one. everybody is sure of whom he means. 

The most of the men went away suspecting just that 
woman, and now their suspicions are confirmed. With 
the Jan Guru it was a case of finchng out just what advice 
was wanted and giving them that. 

The Jan Guru may also have a tout or helper who will 
get into the confidence of the men, and having found out 
everything, bring word to his accomplice, sharing the pro- 
fits. 

The party now returns home and then trouble begins. 
The poor suspected women is dragged out and threatened 
with all sorts of violence, and if the sick one does not im- 
prove, they will carry out their threats. It is not uncom- 
mon that all this fuss togather with the assurance that the 
witch has really been discovered, has a restorative effect 
on the sick one, and he begins to feel better. If he does 
not improve, you may pity the poor witch. 

A few years ago some people from a village six miles 
away came to Jarta with their troubles. The son of their 
headman was at death's door. After receiving his fee Jarta 
went into a trance and indicated who the witch was. The 
' men went home and threatened her, but the boy did not 
improve. ^Vhen he was dying they drove the poor woman 
but of the village and beat her so that she died from the 
treatment she received. Of course the offenders were put 
in prison for it. Old men will tell you that it was not at 
all uncommon in olden times to put witches to death. Now 
the usual thing is to drive them from their villages. Many 
a home has been broken up that way, and many a woman 
has had to leave husband and children and flee to her 



130 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



friends, if she had any, because she was accused of witcli- 
craft. 

The old Jan Guru knows he is a humbug but he won't 
leave off his evil practice because he makes an easy living 
by it. 




A SACRED GROVE. 



IN CAMP. 



During the rainy season it is not possible for the mis- 
sionary to do much viUage visiting. For one thing the mud 
is too deep in many places even for a horse to get through, 
and unless the missionary is bare of foot and leg. can walk 
the embankments between the flooded rice fields and wade 
through the brooks and mud, he will find it rather hard to 
get about. And besides, he will likely as not find the vil- 
lage empty of people when he gets there. Every man wo- 
man and child who is able to work will be busy in the fields. 
During this time of the year the native Christian workers 
go about from ricefield to ricefield and stop to speak a 
word to the busy plowmen or the women at work planting. 

By the first of October the roads will be passable, the 
people at leisure, and the mornings cool and comfortable. 
Then, if you are a hustling missionary, you will get out 
into camp. You leave home for a week at the time and go 
to some of the out-stations of your district. The workers 
in charge of tlie station has been looking forward to your 
coming, and the place will be cleaned up spick and span. 
Usually there is- a room for you to stay in, and you bring 

13X 



132 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



out with you a little furniture, such as a table, a chair and 
a bed. Of course to a- jungle missionary these things are 
not absolutely necessary ; you can get along with a mat on 
the floor for bed and squat on the floor when you take your 
meals. It is wonderful how many things you can get along 
without and yet be perfectly happy. One thing, however. 




PLANTING RICE. 



you had better not forget, and that is to bring your cook. 
You can not afford to take any chances with your stomach 
in this country. 

If you have no mission out-station to go to, there is 
perhaps a Government Dak bungalow in which you can 
stay, while you work in the villages about. These bunga- 



IK CAMP. ms 

lows or rcst-lionscs arc l)nill l)y tb.c government for magi- 
strates and officers to stay in while on their tours of in- 
spection in the districts. When not occupied by servants 
of the government, the meek and humble Padre Saheb is 
as a rule permitted to use them. Some of the bungalows 
are furnished and can be quite comfortable; but many of 
them consist only of an empty room or two with rows of 
large and small bats hanging from the rafters. 

Apropos, a word about the bats. You abhor them at 
first when you see their little beady eyes glare at you by 
day, and at night, when you hear the flopping of their 
leathery wings close to your ear you do have sort of a 
creepv feeling, which is not exactly conducive to sleep. 
There is something uncanny and disagreeable about a bat. 
r>ut little by little you get used to them, and at last you learn 
to love them. If you go to a bungalow, where here are no 
bats, you miss them. They are your friends. If a mos- 
quito is buzzing about your unprotected forehead with 
evil intentions, one of your little friends will promptly come 
to your rescue, snatch up the mosquito and eat it. That is 
why you love them. At dusk you enjoy watching the erratic 
flight of the little ones as they take their flying lessons, 
and by the way catch a few moths and mosquitoes. 

If there is no Dak bungalow to stay in and no out-sta- 
tion to go to, there is yet another way open to you if you 
want to get into camp. You can bring a tent. A good tent 
with a double roof can be quite comfortable, and you have 
the advantage that you can be near the villages and move 
about easily from place to place. There are usually a few 
spreading mango trees near the village under which you 
can pitch your tent. 

After the first day or two camping is not so exceedingly 
interesting, but it is a means to a good end. That is why 



134 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

yon keep it np. And when yon speak of comforts, yon do 
so relatively. There are degrees of comfort, as everyone 
knows. 

A rich American lady, very mnch interested in mis- 
sions and a liberal giver to the great canse, thonght she 
wonld like to see for herself what a missionary's life was 
like. So she decided to come ont to India for a few months. 
On the advice of the missionaries she came ont dnring the 
cold season. She was met at the railway station and taken 
ont to the nearest mission station and made as comfortable 
as possible. She visited aronnd for some time and every- 
body did their best to make her stay as enjoyable as pos- 
sible. When a lady missionary invited her to come ont 
camping with her, she accepted the invitation eagerly. 

The servants, the tents and camp ontfit was sent ont 
ahead and the ladies followed the next day. There were 
neither roads nor vehicles, so they were carried in "dan- 
dies." At dnsk they arrived at the camp and found every- 
thing in order. They had only time for at little look aronnd 
the place when the cook announced that dinner was ready. 
The table was set under a mango tree. There was no 
room for it in the tent. A lantern was suspended from a 
branch above the table. It was a perfect evening, cool and 
calm. The starry sky above, the mango tree with its 
fireflies and the silent Indian night perfectly fascinated the 
visitor. She was enraptured, charmed with everything. 

"Why," she exclaimed, ''everything is perfectly heav- 
enly. How you missionaries can talk of sacrifices and 
discomforts I cannot understand." 

The lady missionary smiled and kept her council. For- 
tunately no stinkbug found its way into the visitor's soup 
and no jackals howled just then. Dinner over they retired 
to the tent. There was a chair and a cot for each of them. 



IN CA:\IP. 135 

The visitor thought everything was "just charming." Wlien 
they retired for the night the missionary hrought in a stout 
stick and placed it beside her bed. 

"'What are you going to do with the stick?" the visitor 
asked. 

"O it's handy to have to kill snakes with and drive out 
stray village dogs, and the like," answered the missionary. 

"You don't mean to say that dogs and snakes can come 
in to our tent?" the visitor again anxiously inquired. The 
missionary lady then proceeded to enlighten her by relat- 
ing some of her actual experiences with jackals, village 
dogs, snakes and scorpions. "Why, it was only the other 
day that I shook a large scorpion out of my shoe before 
I)utting it on in the morning. In fact we old Indians al- 
ways shake our shoes before putting them on. It gets to 
be a habit with us." 

Nothing awful, however, happened that night except 
that the visitors fine silk skirt slid off the chair where she 
had put it and laid on the ground completely ruined by 
white ants. Her shoes she had kept beside her on the cot. 
The next day was a busy one in camp. Sick people w^ere 
brought and had to be helped. There were schools to be 
examined and meetings to be held. And besides that one 
of the servants while gathering firewood had been stung 
by a scorpion. He was in agonies the most of the day. 

Again they had a lovely dinner under the mango trees, 
but it was not quite as charming as the previous. That 
night the visitor kept all her belongings with her on the 
cot. They had only but retired when the visitor screamed 
for help. 'T am stung. It's my ankle! It's a scorpion! 
Help quick, auh !" 

The missionary told her to lie perfectly still and she 
got the lantern which was left burning in the room, turned 



136- 



SKP/r(JHI« FROM SANTALISTAN. 



np the covering at the place where the Avounded ankle was 
supposed to be. After a diligent search she found, not a 
dreadful scorpion, but a sharp toothpick which in some way 
had dropped into the bed. 

Peace was again restored and the tired missionary was 
on the point dropping of f to sleep when she heard a small 




IN THE THRESHING PLACE. 



voice calling her by name and inquiring if she was asleep. 
On being assured that she was awake the visitor said : "Did 
you hear me say last night that I thought missionaries ought 
not to talk about sacrifices, hardships and discomforts? 
Well, may the Lord forgive me. Goodnight !" 

A few days or weeks of camp life will develope your 
taste for it, and if there are any discomforts or hardships 



IN CAMP. 



137 



yoti learn to lake them as part of your days work. To- 
gether with your Christian workers you go out from your 
temporary home every morning to preach the gospel in the 
adjoining villages. The field is often one seldom visited 
hv the preachers and there are no Christians in the neigh- 
borhood. 




THRESHING RICE. 



Early in the morning you go to the threshing places 
just outside the village. There is where you will find the 
people. Usually several threshing places lie close together, 
and often you can get a score of men who will sit for hours 
(in the sunny side of a ]jile of straw and listen to the 
message of salvation. 



138 



SKETCHES FROM SANTA LTPTAN. 



The people arc strangers to your Cliristian workers as 
well as to yourself and you must approach them carefully 
and tactfully if your visit is to do any good. It is best for 
you at first to keep in the background and like good 
children be seen rather than heard. Yoli leave it to your 
preachers to establish proper relations. After a few com- 




THRESHING RICE. 

monplace remarks about the crops or the weather one of 
the preachers will say: ''Den thamakur!" which means, 
"Give us some tobacco." 

You may happen to know that the man who begged for 
tobacco has a good supply of that weed tied up in his cloth, 
but that does not prevent him from begging. Tobacco is 
used as a means of establishing polite and friendly rela- 



1 



IN CAMP. 



139 



tions between the Santals. If a man is unwilling to share 
his tobacco, there is very little use in trying to talk to him. 
Usually a dry tobacco leaf is forthconiming. The preacher 
takes it and gives it over to some young man in the gather- 
ing and asks him to prepare it. Squatting on the ground 
he will then proceed to rub the tobacco leaf to powder in 




BRINGING HOME THE GRAIN. 



the palm of his hand. He will then ask for "chun" or 
slacked lime. From the waistband of someone a folded 
leaf will be extracted and handed to the tobacco maker. 
In this leaf there is powdered lime burnt from clam shells. 
A little of the lime is sprinkled on the powdered tobacco 
and mixed well with it. When all is ready the tobacco 
maker will rise and if he is a devout worshipper of the 



140 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

"Bongas" he will scatter a little pinch on tlic ground as an 
offering to them, and then he will go from one to the other 
of the party putting a little pinch of the powder into the 
right palm of each who wishes to partake. By a dexterous 
movement of the hand the men will manage to transfer the 
tobacco from the palm to their mouth without spilling a 
single grain and without the hand touching the lips. 

Fortunately eticjuette does not demand that the mis- 
sionary should partake of the preparation. It would be 
rather hard on him if it did. 

The tobacco has now broken the spell, coldness and re- 
serve have melted away, tongues are loosened, ears and 
sometimes hearts are opened for the message of peace. 
You are permitted to sow the seed. Sometime, perhaps 
after many days, there will be a harvest. 



^!!!;i*!?f?**l*!*!*l*****i»*^!!!!!?*!*!% 







'.&»«. •isii^ ■^'^ •mt' 'iHt' 'Hif' -i'^ «?>'<• "J'^ «^''!- «^''?« •J'^ «i'^ •*'*• •^'^ «*'<i^'«' •*!«':*I^^!^^!^kj^ 



AMONG THE BRETHREN. 



The tent is pitched under some spreading matkom trees 
just outside the village. The hot, steamy and sultry days, 
which follow the rainy season, are over, and the air is de- 
lightful. It is autumn in Santalistan, and the sound of the 
sickle is heard in the rice-field. 

There is a chair at the tent door, where you can sit and 
watch and listen. The shadow^s are growing long and the 
day is preparing its departure. With heavy sheaves on 
their heads, the women are returning from the rice fields. 
In spite of their heavy burdens they laugh and talk. The 
joy of the harvest is in their hearts. Another picture flash- 
es across your mind : — the last great harvest and the songs 
of rejoicing of those, who are then able to bring in sheaves. 

The shepherd boys are bringing the cattle, goats and 
sheep home toward the village. Slowly they amble along 
as if keeping time to the music of the bamboo flutes which 
the boys are playing. The mellow flute-notes quiver in the 
calm evening air. Long, trembling notes they are with an 
undercurrent of longing and sadness and hoiielessness. 
Especially hopelessness, the sad hopelessness of one who 

1-11 



112 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 



has been oppressed and almost crushed, and only retaining 
the half faded memories of that which was and can never 
be again. 

You listen and listen until you seem to enter into the 
spirit of that music and you think you understand it. That 
burden of sadness, which is borne to you on those trembling. 




BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES. 



minor flute-notes, is it not the essence of the life experience 
of the Santal people? Their history is that of an oppressed 
race, whose pride has never been entirely crushed. But 
repeated flights from oppressors, leaving ruined homes be- 
hind, to begin again life's struggle in other places must 
have spread a pall of hopelessness over them like the black 
smoke rising from their funeral pyres. 



AMONG THE BRETHREN. 143 

As a people they have been homeless, drifting from 
place to place, and they have been stunted like a tree often 
transplanted. There was nothing, which bound them to the 
soil they tilled and to the forests they hunted. Their dear 
ones died and were carried out to the burning ghat. From 
among the ashes of the funeral pyre a few charred bones 
were collected, not to be stored in sacred urns in their 
sanctuaries, but to be thrown into the Damukdia river. On 
the banks of this, their sacred stream, they were left stand- 
ing alone with their burden of sorrow ; the river carried 
away from their sight the last tangible vestige of connec- 
tion between the living and the dead. The last sad duty to 
the departed one was performed. They looked into the mists 
of the broad river, but there was no joyful vision there, 
no hand outstretched to take away the burden of sorrow. 

This is the feeling they have tried to express in their 
simple music. There may be thrills in those melodies 
which aim at gaycty, but it is only for a moment, always, 
always the strains of sadness will return. 

You can but think how different everything would have 
been if there had been a memory to cherish, a grave to 
keep green, or a sacred spot to defend. 

You awake from your reverie to find that it is growing 
dusk. The weird music has ceased and the last stragglers 
of the herd have been brought in for the night. Rest and 
peace take the place of the busy hustle of the day. But for 
a lonely pigeon cooing from the copse the stillness is almost 
oppressive. 

Out of the dusk, white-clad figures begin to appear. Tt 
is time for evening prayers. Slowly and in single file tlicy 
come and squat on the greensward in front of the tent, 
men on one side and women on the other. It is a Christian 
village and the assembly for evening prayers is a large one. 



144 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

Heartily they join in tlie singing of a hymn. The great 
majority of them are ilhterate, but they have learned most 
of the hymns by heart, and with a strong voice to lead them 
they find no difficulty in following the words of the hymns. 
A portion of scripture is read and the old but ever new 
story of Jesus and his love is told again. The eye of faith 
is directed to look beyond these trancient and temporal 
things to those, which are real, everlasting and unchange- 
able, the love of God. 

After prayers, ending with all repeating the Lord's pray- 
er in unison, they say good-night. The women depart to 
prepare the evening meal, but the men linger. They say 
good-night but are in no hurry to depart. 

Someone prepares tobacco, and w^ith that for an excuse 
the men again sit down and draw their thin cotton sheets 
Avell up about their shoulders for the night air is cool. 
Little by little conversation becomes general. At first it 
is "small talk" about crops, cattle and the like, but finally 
it drifts into serious channels. Trouble and ill feeling be- 
tween brethern is brought to light and discussed. Opinions 
for and against, are freely expressed. It is dark, no man's 
face can be seen distinctly, and that very fact seems to give 
them courage to express what is in their hearts. 

Before long men are asking each other's forgiveness. 
Old troubles are settled. It is nearly midnight when some- 
one suggests that we again surround the mercy-seat to offer 
thanks to ITim, Avho is the author of love. 

As you kneel that night beside your cot in your lonely 
tent, you feel mean and humbled because you so often have 
gi'umljled and complained as if the work was in vain and 
the days wasted. Now that you have seen the work of His 
s])irit, }'Ou feel that you ought ^vith all }'our heart to ]M-aise 
liim for calling you to be His witness among these gro^v^- 



AMONG THE BRETHREN. 



145 



up children. As you confess your sins and try to claim 
His promises, and look up into His face, so full of love and 
tenderness, you can but say : "Had I a thousand lives to 
live, I should place them all on Thy altar to be dedicated 
to Thy service among these people." 




THE HOUSE-BUILDERS, 



^j«. ^f^ •i!«:^!^ ^Ik.^lkMk^lk^lk^l'kM^ Mi^lk •*!<• ^'^^ •*'<• •^'«' •^'«• ^^i* •*'<• -s'^ •*'<• 
•»?«• 'Ht' ^Ik^Jk.^lk^lk^^^^okMk^lk^l'k^lkMk. "^J^ -^I^ •*'<• •*'«• •»'«• •*'«• -J'^ "J'^ •&'«- 

•?»«' -yj^ -^i^ -^i^ "^t^ -74^ vt«» Vl^ "^J^ tmi' -Ji^ "^i^ ^i*" Vj^" •?l^^J^^i^^J^ W?i?^I?^i^ 



IN DULU'S COURT-YARD. 



Dulu was for a long time the only Christian in tlie vil- 
lage and has been the object of considerable persecution. 
Not that anyone did him bodily harm, for there are other 
ways of persecution. His heathen neighbors slighted him 
in every possible way, they could think of, and heaped all 
sorts of ridicule on him whenever they had an opportunity. 
But Dulu was not discouraged, neither did he become sour 
or bitter. He just smiled through it all. His life v/as a 
daily testimony for Christ among his benighted neighbors. 
And his testimony was not in vain, the tide turned and now 
about half of the villagers are Christians. 

One day — it was before the tide had turned — we were 
having a meeting in a threshing place near Dulu's house, 
and after having tried to make the way of salvation as 
clear as possible, we called on those present to express 
their opinion. A young Santal stretched himself, yawned 
and said : "What do you gain by becoming a Christian ? 
I can't see that it is any easier for you people to support 
yourselves that it is for us. We have to work for our liv- 
ing whether we are Christians or heathen." 



IN DULU'S COURT YARD. 147 

To this question Dulu in his quiet way replied : "You 
all know that I came to this village together with my fa- 
ther when I w^as a boy ten or twelve years of age. My 
mother and sister had died in the famine and father and I 
came here in quest of work. A short time afterwards we 
became Christians. We were then as poor as we could be. 
All my earthly possessions was a stick. And today, though 
I am far from rich, yet my children need not go hungry 
and naked. Had I remained a heathen I should have been 
worse off than any of you. I do not work harder than 
the rest of you, neither do my fields yield more than yours. 
How is it that I have food and many of you have none? 
My friend, it is God's blessing and nothing else." 

There was nothing to reply. Everyone knew that what 
Dulu said was true, and the man with the materialistic ob- 
jection could only hang his head. 

Dulu can not give long discourses on Christianity, nor 
preach, nor exhort, but he tries to live Christ, and after all 
that is what counts. That so many of his fellow villagers 
have turned to Christ is more due to the testimony of 
Dulu's life than to the preaching of the Christian workers. 

One morning four preachers happened to meet in the 
village and after visiting the Christians we agreed to go to 
Dulu's house for a little rest and a drink of water. Dulu 
has four houses built in such a way that there is an open 
square or courtyard in the center. The house nearest to 
the street is the cowhouse. One end of this has been par- 
titioned to the courtyard. The heavy door studded with 
iron and brass nails gave evidence of prosperity. Not 
many people in the village could afford such a door. As 
we entered, Dulu's wife at once brought out a couple of 
string beds for the preachers to sit on. and a small stool for 
the Salicb. Then she went and got a few brass vessels, filled 



148 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

them with water and put one on the ground before each 
of us, whereupon she made obeisance before each one in 
turn. Each one of the preachers received the kind of greet- 
ing his relationship to her entitled him to. 

In the meantime Dulu appeared. He had been repair- 
ing a wall but climbed down, washed his hands and feet 
and came forward to greet us. After tobacco had been 
made and distributed, and the usual talk about health and 
crops got over with, Dulu remarked: "The Lord has been 
very good to us. We had a wonderful experience last 
night." He then told us the following story. 

Dulu and his family had retired as usual the evening 
before. The children slept on a mat on the floor of the 
same room as their father and mother. In the corner of 
the room a number of chickens also spent the night huddled 
together. Chickens have free run of the bedrooms of the 
Santals and they never sit on a perch but huddle in a cor- 
ner and early in the morning they rouse the family. The 
only alarm clock the Santal has is a cock. 

During the night Dulu was awakened by the cackling 
of the chickens. He lit his lamp to see what was the matter 
an found two hens flopping around on the floor dying. The 
rest of the chickens were running about hiding here and 
there. At once he understood that a cobra had paid him 
a visit. 

Dulu got his stick and began to search for the snake. 
All through the room he searched but could not find it. 
He roused his wife and children and they all joined in 
the search, but all in vain. They were all very much fright- 
ened. How could they lie down and go to sleep again 
knowing that the cobra might be hiding in the room? Dulu 
then set the lamp on the floor and asked his wife and child- 



IN DULU'S COURTYARD, 



149 



ren to kneel with him and pray that the Lord might show 
them where the snake was hidden. 

When the prayer was ended Duhi looked up and there 
on the threshhold he saw the head of the cohra. It was re- 
turning to the room. A moment more and Dulu's stick de- 




IN THE SHADE OF THE MATKOM TRE^. 



cended on its head and the danger was over. Again the 
family knelt on the floor, this time in thanksgiving for the 
wonderful deliverance. 

''The Lord saw how frightened we were," said Dulu, 
"and Lie just sent that cobra back so I could kill it and we 
could all lie down again and rest safely until morning." 






OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 



Life everywhere has its ups and clowns, its joys and 
sorrows, its days of sunshine and its days of darkness and 
gloom. The life of a missionary is no exception to this 
rule. There are days of disappointments, dark and gloomy 
days when dreams of victory vanish and it seems as if the 
enemy is gaining ground all along the fighting line. 

At the time referred to in this sketch we had just passed 
through such an experience. Christians had fallen and 
would not let themselves be raised up again. Inquirers had 
come forward, but none of them seemed to get courage to 
take the step and confess their faith in Christ. Among 
our inquirers at this time, and of whom we entertained 
hope, was a Hindu belonging to one of the lower castes. 
He had shown great interest in the truth taught him, and 
had repeatedly expressed a desire to become a Christian. 
But when he was asked to take his stand for Christ and 
confess Him openly, he withdrew and for a couple of 
months we could not get near him. Our opportunity to talk 
to him was cut off, but not the opportunity to pray for him. 

150 



OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 



151 



Daily lliis Hindu and his family were carried to the throne 
of grace by the little band of workers. 

Suddenly one early morning- in a pouring rain Puchu, 
for that was his name, came to the mission, sought out one 
of the workers and asked to be taken to the missionary. 
Something had happened to him, he said 




AN OLD CHRISTIAN. 



He began to explain that the reason why he had come 
now was that he wished to become a Christian and wanted 
to be baptized right away. On inquiring what had brought 
about this sudden change in him who only a short time be- 
fore had declared that he would not break with his caste 
and become a follower of Christ, he told the following story. 

After being convinced in his heart that Christianity was 



152 SKETCHES FUOM SANTALISTAN. 

right, his earnest desire was to become a Christian. lie 
spoke of this to some of his friends, but they f riglitened him 
and told him that if he became a Christian he would be 
outcasted, no one would help him when sick or in want, 
and when he died, no one would take his body out to the 
burning ghat, but it would be left to rot in the house. They 
also threatened him with bodily violence if he broke caste. 
■ For these reasons he gave up the idea of becoming a Christ- 
ian and kept out of the way of the preachers. When they 
came to his* village he would hide somewhere rather than 
meet them. 

The previous evening he had retired as usual and fell 
asleep. About midnight he awoke with the strange sensa- 
tion that someone was in the room. He looked up. and 
there beside his bed stood a tall figure. At first it was 
indistinct and then gradually it became clearer until every 
detail of its form and face stood out very clearly. From 
the left arm of this strange visitor hung a long white robe, 
and although nothing was said Puchu understood that the 
robe was intended for him. A long time the visitor stood 
beside the bed. At last Puchu asked him : '"Are you not 
going to give me that robe?" To this the visitor made no 
reply, but as Puchu looked up into his face he saw that he 
was weeping. A moment more and the strange visitor 

was gone. 

Puchu could not sleep any more, but lay thinking about 
what this strange vision meant. And the more he thought, 
the clearer it seemed to him. that the white robe was the 
salvation, which he had refused to accept for fear of his 
caste fellows. God wished to give it to him. but he had 
refused it, and the messenger had wept because he had to 
take the robe away again. The thought also occurred to 



OUT Oli^ 'rTTI<". DARKNESS. 153 

him that it was now too late to seek salvation, and that he 
was to die soon. What should he do ? 

At daybreak he got up, picked up his stick and his lun- 
brella, and without saying a word to his wife came to- the 
mission and wanted to be baptized at once. 

We told him that both he and his family ought to be 
further instructed, and when prepared they would all re- 
ceive baptism at the same time. But he would not be re- 
fused. He wanted to be baptized today, right away. He 
was convinced, that if he did not get baptized that very day 
he would die. 

We saw that the man was deeply stirred and that it 
would perhaps not be well to postpone his baptism; so we 
sent him to bring his family. One of the Christian work- 
ers accompanied him. They returned with four of the 
children, his wife and eldest daughter were not as yet read}^ 
to follow him. Together with his children Puchu received 
baptism the same day. It was a day of rejoicing for us all, 
but especially for Puchu. His wife and daughter were 
instructed, and a month later we were able to welcome them 
also to the church. Years have passed since then, but we 
have never yet had reason to regret that we received Puchu 
as a candidate for baptism with but little previous instruc- 
tion. 

A short time after Puchu's conversion another soul was 
brought from out of the darkness in a similar way. She 
was an old blind woman over sixty years of age. Her 
daughter was the wnie of one of our Christian workers and 
a warm-hearted woman. One day she came to the mission 
with a very sad and heavy heart. She had just returned 
from a visit to her old mother. After having told about 
her visit she burst into tears and said: "Every day for 
fifteen years I have been praying for my mother's conver- 



154 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

sion, but slic seems farther away from God today than 
ever before. Today she scolded mc and told me never to 
speak to her again about her soul. It seems as if the Lord 
will not hear my prayers, wdiat shall I do?" 

Looking at it from a human standpoint the hope for the 
old woman's conversion was not very bright. She was an 
exceptionally hard old heathen, well versed in all "Bonga" 
matters, and experience has taught us that such people 
seldom change, especially at her time of life. But we are 
not supposed to look at such cases from our standpoint, 
])ut from Mis, who is able to bring even those in the dark- 
ness of death Irnck to life and light. God's promises were 
held up before the l)rokenhearted woman and she went away 
to kee]) on praying and trusting in God, that He would find 
some way of touching her old mother's hard heart. 

Two weeks after this event the old blind woman sud- 
denly appeared at the door of her daughter's house. This 
had never happened before. Imagine the daughter's sur- 
prise at seeing her old mother at the door ! A little girl 
from the village had led her to the house. On arriving she 
dropped the little girl's hand and told her that she might 
return. The daughter wondered what this meant, but asked 
no questions, and set about making her mother comfortable. 

At last the mother said : "Daughter, I have come to 
you to stay with you and to be what you are." 

The previous night the old woman had dreamt that she 
was dying and that she passed on to the next world in 
company with her three children, two sons and the daughter 
referred to, who were all Christians. They walked up a 



OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 155 

lane lined with beautiful palms and flowering trees. At 
last they arrived at a broad gate, through which she got 
glimpses of a beautiful garden and people walking about. 
Her children were all in front of her as they entered. Then 
suddenly, a tall dark man with a long bamboo stick in his 
hand steped in front of her and stopped her. She asked 
him, "Why do you stop me?" "You do not belong here," 
he replied. "But my children, why do you part me from 
them, I will go where they go," she said, but the man told 
her that her children belonged there and that she must go 
away. Her children went on and joined the people within 
the gates and were lost to her sight, and she was turned 
back. 

The dream was so vivid and real to her, that as she 
avv^oke, she sat up in bed and cried at the thought of being- 
parted forever from her children. Her hard heart was 
melted, and she resolved then and there to break away from 
her heathen friends and the "Bonga" worship and become 
a Christian. 

Together with a class of about twenty souls she was 
baptized on a Sunday morning. She not only answered 
the usual questions put to the candidates, but she interrupt- 
ed the solemn proceedings by making quite a long speech 
to the congregation, setting forth the reasons for the step 
she was about to take and deploring the fact that she had 
waited so long before she accepted the invitation to come to 
her Saviour. 

For half a year she lived with her daughter, and she 
used her time well. If she was unable to get someone to 



156 



SKETCH RS FROM SANTALISTAN. 



take her about to her old friends and relatives in the vil- 
lages, she would send for them and entreat them earnestly 
to leave thir "Bongas" and come to Christ. When at last 
she was taken sick with dysentery, she told everyone that 
she was going to leave them. She knew she was going 
home. She died peacefully rejoicing in her Saviour. When 
no longer able to speak, she lifted her hand and pointed 
upwards. 

From out of the darkness the Lord had led her into his 
own marvelous light. 




BRINGING FIBRE GRASS TO MARKET. 






GLIMPSES BEYOND THE VEIL. 



Pandii was one of our Christian workers. He was not 
conspicuous for his brilhancy either as a preacher or as a 
catechist, but in his humble, quiet way, he bore witness for 
his master of the hope, that was in him. Perhaps he was 
best known as the husband of Sohna, the leading bible 
woman in this part of the mission field. 

One day in the beginning of the rainy season, Pandu 
very suddenly passed away. His case looked like cholera, 
but there was no struggle, the end came quietly, and his 
last hours were full of joy and peace. 

His wife told us that during the last month before he 
died he would often drop hints to the effect that his end 
was near. During the week before he died he spent his 
spare moments in making a new bed. One evening 
while watching him at his work, his wife made the remark 
that she thought that this bed would not be as pretty as 
some of the others he had made, for Pandu was rather 
clever with his hands and could make nice things. On hear- 
ing this remark he stopped working , turned to his wife and 
said in a quiet way: ''I havn't the time to make this one 

157 



158 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

pretty, as I shall need it very soon, for on this bed I shall 
sleep my last sleep." 

His words came true ; four days later he was carried 
to his last resting place on that very bed. 

Bhima was a pupil in our boy's boarding school ; he was 
about fifteen years of age when he died. He was the son 
of one of our preachers and brought up in a Christian 
home. From early childhood he had been taught how to 
pray and what it means to live a Christian life. At the age 
of eight he came to the boarding school. Although he did 
not distinguish himself as a scholar, yet with his true Chris- 
tian character he won the love and esteem of both teachers 
and fellow-pupils. It is told of him, that when asked by an 
older boy to get some peppers from the garden of one of 
the teachers, who hap])ened to be away from home that 
day, that young Bhima looked at the tempter and replied, 
"Do you think I will sell my soul to Satan for a pepper?" 

About a month before Bhima died he called his special 
friend or chum aside and told him, that he soon would 
have to leave this world. "It will come about in this way," 
he said, "first I will get a headache and then two days af- 
terwards I shall die. But I want you to promise me that as 
long as I am alive, you do not tell anyone what I have told 
you now. If my mother should find out that I am to die, 
she would feel very bad, so don't tell anyone." 

Bhimas w^ords came true. He took to bed one day with 
a severe headache. His chum was at his bedside and wept, 
for he knew what this sickness meant. "O Bhima, why 
are you going to leave me-" cried his chum. Bhima re- 
plied : "I am going on before you a little while. In three 
months you will join me and A\'e shall be together forever." 

Two days afterwards Bhima passed away trusting in 
his Saviour. 



GLIMPSES BEYOND THE VEIL. 159 

^^'llcn Bhima's chum saw, that everything his friend had 
said about himself, came true, he became friglitened and 
ran away from school. But like Noah's dove finding no 
place to rest, he returned, sought out Bhima's mother and 
told her everything. He was taken back into school again 
and three months later, precisely as Bhima had foretold, 




WOOD SELLER. 

he passed away to be with his friend, where there is no 
more parting. 

Among a class of catechumens that were baptized in 
the Sohor district there was a nine year old boy by the 
name of Ram. For some time he had been suffering from 
fever and enlargement of the spleen and was quite emacia- 



160 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

ted. Pie was therefore not able to go to the pond to be 
baptized pubHcly Hke the rest of the class, but received the 
holy rite in his room, lying on his bed. 

One day about a month after his baptism Ram was 
walking about feeling much better. His mother said, 
"You will soon be quite well again." To this He replied, 
''Yes, mother, I shall be better soon for I am going away 
tonight." His mother, thinking he intended to go to some 
of his friends, remarked, that she thought he had better 
wait a few days until he got stronger. 

Across the street from Ram's home, Lutu, the Chrisian 
worker, who had been his instructor, lived. In Lutu's 
house all the Christians in the village used to gather for 
evening prayers. Quite early in the afternoon the boy be- 
gan to ask for Lutu, saying, that he wanted him to gather 
the people for evening prayers. His mother told him that 
Lutu was out in the villages preaching, and would not re- 
turn before dusk, and besides it was not yet time for eve- 
ning prayers. But the boy would not be quieted, he wanted 
to have evening prayers right away. Lie went to the hous- 
es of all the Christians in the village and asked as many as 
he could find to come with him to evening prayers, as he 
called it. Nearly all the people were at their work in the 
fields, only children were at home, but these he gathered 
in the usual place and had prayers with them. 

After prayers in which he had committed both himself 
and his playmates into the loving care of his Saviour, he 
told them plainly that he was to leave them. Several of the 
children went home weeping. 

Lutu returned from his work a little earlier than usual. 
The children told him what had happened, and he went to 
the sick boy and found him lying on his bed, but very 



GLIMPSES BEYOND THE VEIL. 161 

cheerful and contented. Lutii said : "What is it I hear 
about you? You are surely not going to leave us." 

''Yes, uncle, tonight I am going," was Ram's reply. 
"Why should you leave us now" said Lutu, "you have 
been getting much better of late and the Lord will surely 
make you quite well again and you will live to serve Him 
for many years." 

But the boy repeated that he was going, and that he 
was only waiting for the messengers to come for him. 

Lutu then sat down on the bed beside the boy and talk- 
ed to him about Jesus and his heavenly home, and when 
the time came for the people to gather for evening pray- 
ers Ram folded his little hands, closed his eyes, and a little 
sigh told that the messengers had arrived, and the little 
spirit was free. Ram had been a Christian only a month. 

In the village of Kaerabani there lived, some years ago, 
an old woman by the name of Lukhi. She was a quiet, un- 
obstructive old soul, very fond of her grand-children and 
always to be found with one or two of them by her side 
in church on a Sunday. 

Her oldest grand-daughter was about to be married. 
The banns had been published and the wedding day fixed. 
No one looked forward to the event with greater pleasure 
than the grandmother. But two weeks before the wed- 
ding was to take place she was suddenly taken ill with 
dysentery. In two days she became so weak, that she could 
hardly move in bed and all hope for her recovery was gi- 
ven up. The bride-to-be sat by her bed and wept saying: 
"O grandmother, why are you going to leave us, at least 
wait untill after my wedding, but don't leave us now." 
"It will be as He wills," was the whispered reply. 
Late in the evening she became unconscious, her feet 
and hands were quite cold and everyone thought she was 



162 



SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 



dying. In this state she remained the most of the night. 
The family and other friends watched by her bedside. At 
dawn she opened her eyes, looked about her in a bewildered 
way and asked : "Where am I ?" On seeing her grand- 
daughter she said: "O, there you are. I am not going just 
yet. I will be with you and partake in your wedding feast." 

She then told those about her what had happened to 
her. She had, as she expressed it, been to the other world 
and there she walked up a beautiful street, entirely differ- 
ent from anything she had ever seen. There were a lot 
of people about and they all looked so happy. From out of 
a group of children little Lukhi, one of her grand-children 
who had died the year before, came out and greeted her. 
But just then a tall man came up to her and in a pleasant 
voice told her that she would have to go back for a while 
yet. "In a month from now," he said, "you may return." 

She then asked for some food and after a little while 
got up, dressed and took her broom and started to sweep 
the courtyard, as was her habit every morning. 

She was quite well again and able to partake in the 
wedding festivities, and as she had foretold one month af- 
terwards she passed away very quietly never to return. 




REMARKABLE ANSWERS TO PRAYER. 



The Santal Christians beheve that God hears their 
prayers. They beheve that if God has promised a thing, 
it must be so. He can not lie. When they see that Christ 
has promised : "Ask, and it shah be given you." — they 
beheve that He who gave the promise is both wihing and 
able to fulfill it. With childlike faith they lay hold of the 
promises and they are not disappointed. 

At a meeting of the Christian workers the other day 
we were discussing prayer, and one of the men told us the 
following incident : 

"Last week my youngest daughter, a child about five 
years old, was taken very ill. Little lumps, about the size 
of a bean, were raised all over her body and she suffered 
awfully. Although 1 have treated people for sickness and 
given medicine for years, I have never seen such a case, 
and several of the brethern, whom I called, also told me 
that they had never seen a case like this one. 

We tried every remedy we could think of, but the child 
only grew worse. For three days and nights her mother 
and I watched by her bedside and prayed that our dear 

163 



164 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

one might not be taken from us. On the fourth night we 
saw that she was growing very weak and we feared that 
the end was near. It was after midnight when I went 
outside and again cried to God to spare my child. After 
I had prayed a cahn came over me. I did not worry any 
longer. God's will would be done. I entered the sick- 
chamber again, sat down on the mat beside the child's bed, 
leaned my head on the edge of the bed and in this position 
I fell asleep. 

In a dream an old man came to me and asked me if I 
had faith in God. Three times he asked me this question, 
and each time I replied that I had. He then told me to 
put dust on the body of the sick child in the name of Jesus 
Christ and the child would live. When I awoke the day 
was just beginning to break. I took the moaning child in 
my arms, carried her out, put her on the ground and rub- 
bed dust all over her body, the way the old man had told 
me. Then I put her on the bed again and she fell asleep 
quietly and slept for about two hours, when she awoke and 
told us that she was hungry. The child was perfectly well. 
The little lumps on her body were all gone. God had heard 
my prayer and in this wonderful way healed my child." 

Another incident happened in our Girls' Boarding 
School a few days ago. One of the rules of the school had 
been broken. No one confessed, but suspicion fastened 
itself on little INIuni, a nine year old girl, because she had 
committed that very same offence once before, and was 
then let off with a warning. The matron thought that 
this time she would have to take her punishment and pro- 
ceeded to give her a little spanking. 

Muni knew she was innocent and that she had been 
punished for the offence of another girl, and she felt the 
indignity very keenly. But the school bell rang and she 



REMARKABLE ANSWERS TO PRAYER. 



165 



wiped her tears and went to her class. At noon she re- 
fused to eat her dinner, but went to her sleeping-room, 
spread her mat, knelt down, and with tears told her Heav- 
enly Father all about her troubles. One of the nurses sit- 
ting close by heard everything she said. She asked her 




SANTAL FLUTE PLAYERS. 

Savior to show her in a dream who it was that should have 
had the punishment. 

Muni now lay down on her mat and fell asleep. When 
she awoke, about an hour later, she went to the matron and 
said : "Now I know who committed the offence for which 
I was punished. It was Manjhan." 



166 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

"How do you know it was Manjhan?" the matron 
asked. 

Muni then told her that she had asked Jesus to show 
her in a dream who the offender was, and that she had 
seen Manjhan. The nurse, who heard her pray, told the 
matron what she said in her prayer. Manjhan was then 
called and confessed that she was the guilty one. She 
asked Muni's forgiveness for the pain and disgrace she had 
caused her. 

But I must tell you about Dumni, and how the I.ord 
heard her prayer. Dumni had been given to us when she 
was a little girl six or seven years old, Her widowed 
mother was a heathen and very poor. There was famine 
in the district and many people suffered. Dumni's mother 
had one single hen which laid one egg a day. This egg 
little Dumni would bring to the mission every day and sell 
it, and for the money her mother would buy a little rice, 
from which she made soup for herself and her children. 
She had several sons, but Dumni was her only daughter. 
When the widow saw that she could not support all her 
children any longer, she brought Dumni to the mission and 
asked the missionary's wife to take her and keep her as 
her own child. The gift was accepted and shortly after- 
wards Dumni was sent to the Girls' Boarding School. 

A few weeks ago she was confirmed together with a 
class of thirteen girls. On Monday previous to the confir- 
mation Sunday one of the older girls in the school missed 
some money from her box, and accused Dumni of having 
taken it. But she pleaded her innocence and said she knew 
nothing about the money. The case was looked into, and, 
although there was no direct evidence that Dumni had ta- 
ken the money, yet they were not able to clear her from 
the suspicion. She knew, that unless the case was cleared 



REMARKABLE ANSWERS TO PRAYER. 167 

up and her innocence established, she could not be con- 
firmed together with her class. 

In her distress Diimni fasted and prayed. She also 
asked the other members of her class to help her in prayer. 
Every day the class met for Bible study and prayed. Sa- 
turday the last meeting was held, and up to then nothing 
had happened ; the case was not cleared up. 

The meeting was over. Final instruction for the mor- 
row was given. At last Dumni was called and asked to 
confess, if she were guilty, and admonished not to forfeit 
her peace and joy for the sake of a few cents. But she 
answered that she could not confess that in which she was 
not guilty. With tears streaming down her face she said : 

Every day I have prayed that God would clear up this 
matter, so that my innocence might be established, but un- 
til now He has not heard me. No one else can help me." 

She cried as if her heart was breaking and her class- 
mates were also crying. Just then the matron from the 
school arrived and announced that the case was cleared up, 
the money had been found, and that Dumni was innocent. 

There was a moments pause, then Dumni said : Let us 
thank God." And she poured out her heart in thanksgiv- 
ing and praise to God for her wonderful deliverance. She 
also prayed for the girl that had accused her falsely. 







SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 



The subject of this sketch was born in a village called 
Ketosori in the Santal country. While yet a boy, Sam 
often had visions and wonderful dreams. When he was 
about nine years of age, an old man came to him in a dream 
and told him not to eat anything that had been prepared 
as an offering to any of the bongas; neither should he eat 
anything unclean, such as the flesh of animals that had 
died from disease. 

For four years he kept this commandment. Then it 
happened that one of his neighbors was taken sick. An 
Ojha was called in, and after he had given the customary 
offerings to the gods, and medicines to the man, he recov- 
ered. After his recovery, a thanks-offering, consisting of 
cakes made from chicken and pastry, was given. These 
cakes were given to the relatives and neighbors of the man 
Avho was healed. 

On this occasion, Sam was asked to take some of the 
cakes out to three or four boys who were herding cattle 
outside the village. On his way out, it occurred to him 
that he might taste one of the cakes. He was alone, so no 

168 



SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 



169 



one would be the wiser if he took one single cake,. The 
temptation was too strong for him, and he fell. When he 










SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 



had eaten the cake, he noticed that a large mango-tree by 
the way-side began to shake as if moved by a strong wind. 



170 SKETCHES PROM SANTALISTAN. 

But it was a calm day. The boy stopped, and looked at the 
tree and wondered what this could mean, when suddenly 
a large branch was broken off and fell with a crash to the 
ground. Then he remembered his dream and that he had 
broken the commandment that the old man had given him. 
He became so frightened that he got fever and was sick for 
a couple of weeks. 

During his illness, an old Ojha from the neighborhood 
attended him. When Sam told him about the tree, he ex- 
plained to him that a bonga was after him and was trying 
to harm him. This fear caught the whole family and 
they decided to move away from the village. Consequent- 
ly they gathered their possessions and moved eastward to 
the Sohor country and settled in a village about six miles 
west of the Ganges. 

In this neighborhood there was an old medicine- ninn, 
who had a large number of "chelas" or disciples. Sam went 
to this man and soon became one of his most promising 
boys. When he had learned all the old Ojha had to teach 
him, he graduated at the Dasae festival. Together with 
their teacher, the class went from village to village. They 
sang and danced for the people and in turns went into 
trances, or were possessed by some bonga. After each 
performance of this kind, they begged corn from the 
people. Each boy gave his teacher a rupee and a goat, as 
pay for the pains he had taken in teaching him. 

Sam also visited all the greatest medicine-men in the 
district and learned all he could from them, so that although 
he was but a young man he soon became a famous Ojha, 
not only among his own people, but also among the Hindus 
and Mohammedans. From near and far people sought him 
when they were sick or troubled by their bongas. They did 
not come empty-handed, but brought with them offerings 



SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 



171 



of money, goats, pigs, fowls, and above all, plenty of rice- 
beer, so that Sam could indulge in the luxury of going to 
bed drunk almost every evening. 

Several years passed by. Sam was married and had a 
family. One day two of his children were taken sick with 
dysentery. He gave them medicine and offered sacrifices 




A CLASS OF YOUNG MEDICINE-MEN 
AT THE DASAE DANCE. 

to the gods for their recovery, but they grew worse. After 
he had tried all the remedies at his disposal, and offered 
the largest sacrifices he thought the gods could demand 
without it having the desired effect, he went to a Hindu 
mendicant, or holy man, and asked him to make sacrifices 
to his gods for the children. Pie arrived at the shrine of 



172 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

the holy man early in the morning and the first thing he 
was asked after having stated his case was if he had eaten 
anything that morning. He answered in the negative and 
the hol}^ man said : 

"Very well, go to the Ganges and fetch a bottle of 
water. Buy some nuts, some butter, milkcurds, and ver- 
milion in the bazaar and when you return we shall make 
an offering to the gods for your children. But take care 
that you taste neither food nor water before you return," 

Sam was accompanied by one of his brothers. They 
went to the Ganges, a distance of four miles, and procured 
the things required by the holy man. It was in the month 
of May and the weather was very hot. They were both 
faint from thirst and hunger, when they returned. The 
holy man offered to his gods and assured Sam that his 
children would be saved. With hope in their hearts, tliey 
returned to their home, where they arrived late in the after- 
noon, but to their great disappointment found the children 
worse than tliey were in the morning. That night one of 
them died. 7 he next night the other one passed away. 

Then Sam said, "Now I am through with the bongas. 
I have offered the greatest sacrifices for my children and 
yet they did not make them well. They have evidently no 
power to heal. I shall never offer to them any more, no 
matter what happens to me, and I shall have nothing to do 
with them." 

When Sam broke up his altar, people thought he was 
crazy and warned him not to do it, for if he did, the bon- 
gas would surely kill him. 

Several weeks passed by, and nothing happened to Sam. 
People came to him as before to be helped. He gave them 
medicine which he prepared from, roots and herbs, but per- 
formed no sacrifices for them. He was convinced that the 



SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 173 

bongas were false but that somewhere there must be a true 
God and he hoped to know him. 

One evening in the rainy season, a young Santal came 
to his house, and asked if he could get lodging there over 
night. He was welcomed and shown genuine Santal hos- 
pitality. The young man was one of the village school 
teachers of our mission and had come to Sohor in connec- 
tion with a law-suit. He was certainly led by the Lord to 
Sam's house. After the evening meal, Sam gave him a 
mat and showed him where he could spend the night. The 
young teacher spread his mat, sat down on it, got a book 
from his bundle and began to sing. The song was about 
the love of God and his care for those who trust in him. 
Sam's heart was touched. He had never heard the gospel 
of salvation before. All he knew about Christianity was 
that it was the religion of the white people and that some 
Santals had disgraced themselves by adopting- if and were 
consequently outcasted. When the song was ended, Sam 
asked the young man to sing it again. This he did and 
then explained the song verse by verse. Neither Sam 
nor his guest went to bed that night. The young teacher 
told the old, old story of Jesus and his love over and over 
again. 

For a whole month this young teacher stayed with Sam 
and instructed him and his family in the word of God. Then 
he came to the mission and asked us to send a catechist 
over to prepare them for baptism. 

The Sohor country is outside of our missionfield, but 
the society working in that district had done no work 
among the Santals and were willing that we should baptize 
them. Consequently after they had been instructed, a 
pastor was sent over to baptize them. 

After Sam and his family had become Christians, their 



174 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

heathen neighbors would have nothing to do with them. 
They refused to give them fire, or to lend them anything, 
or help them when they were in need. Sam had very little 
land and was not used to hard work and it was not long 
before he and his family began to suffer want. 

One evening he found his wife weeping. She told him 
that there was no food in the house and that everybody she 
had asked refused to lend her anything. Perhaps after all 
they had been foolish in becoming Christians. The out- 
look was very gloomy, but Sam took his troubles to the 
Throne of Grace and asked for help. 

That night he had a dream or, perhap.5, it was more 
like a vision. He saw a European standing on a high 
embankment directing a great number of people who were 
busy carrying earth on to the embankment beside a great 
river. Sam was made to understand that he should go to 
the white man and ask for work. 

When the vision had passed away he unrlerstood that 
he should go to the Ganges where they were building a 
new rail-road just then. In the morning he told his wife 
that he was going away to get work. She said, '"How can 
1 let you go without getting any breakfast. V.'ait a bit and 
I will ask your sister again to lend us a bowl fu^l of rice." 

In a little while she returned with a little rice. This 
she cooked and gave him, and he was soon on h's v/ay to 
the Ganges. 

Arriving at the river, he saw a great number of jieople 
at work building up an earthwork for a railway. Long- 
lines of coolies carried earth in baskets on their heads and 
dumped it on the embankments. Among the coolies, direct- 
ing their work, he saw a European and at otice recognized 
him as the man he had seen in the vision. He vvent up to 
him, greeted him respectfully and asked him for work. 



SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 



175 



The pAiropean asked him if he could read and write. 
To this he answered in the affirmative and was told that 
he would get work at once directing a squad of twenty 
coolies. Besides his salary he would get a certain percent- 
age of every square yard of earth his squad excavated. Sam 
was happy and with his heart full of praise to God he com- 




SAM'S HOUSE AND CLASS OF CATECHUMENS. 



menced his work. He sent for his family and lived in the 
camp for several months. Soon his squad was increased. 
At times he had as many as one hundred coolies vx'orking 
under him. 

When the work on the railroad was finished, he re- 
turned to his village, paid all his debts and had enough left 
to live on for the rest of the vear. 



176 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

All this time he had been reading his testament and his 
knowledge of Christian truth increased. The trials he had 
gone through had deepened his spiritual life, fie now be- 
gan to speak to his friends and relatives in the neighbor- 
hood, inviting them to come to the Savior. At first they 
ridiculed him and asked him to mind his own business and 
leave them alone. Every day Sam cried to God for help 
that His kingdom might come to the Sohor country where 
so many of his people sat in darkness. 

Across the street from Sam's house, his oldest sister 
and her family lived. This sister was a very strong op- 
ponent of Christianity and used every opportunity to 
thwart him in his efforts to win souls for Christ. But Sam 
prayed and waited for his opportunity and it came. 

One of the sons of this sister, a lad .of twelve years, 
was working for a Hindu in the next village. An unknown 
disease broke out in that village and several people died. 
One night two Hindus brought the Santal boy home to his 
mother's house on a stretcher. He was very ill. His 
throat was choking and he was unable to talk. The 
whole family was greatly alarmed and feared that the boy 
would die. In her agony, the mother ran across the street 
to her brother Sam's house, roused him and asked him to 
come over and. if possible, to do something to save her boy. 
vSam replied that of himself he could do nothing. It was 
not in his power to save the boy's life, but if she would 
give her heart to God and pray for her son, perhaps it 
might please God to show her mercy and heal her boy. She 
replied, "Yes, brotlier, T will believe in the God you be- 
lieve in, but come quickly, and pray for my boy. 

Sam soon knelt by the cot of the sick boy, placed his 
hands on his head and prayed that God should be merciful 



SAM, THE MEDICINE MAN, 



177 



and save the boy so that the heathen might see that he 
alone Avas the true God. 

After the prayer the boy sat up and took some ginger- 
water they had prepared for him. The next morning he 
was perfectly well. A few months later, he came to the 




DURGA AND RARIA ON THEIR WEDDING DAY. 



Boarding School for boys at Kaerabani and is a promising 
lad. 

This occurance opened the eyes, not only of the friends 
and relatives of the family, but of the neighbors as well. 
They had seen with their own eyes that a boy, who Vv^as at 
death's door, had been healed through prayer. The God 



178 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

of the Christians must be the true God and stronger than 
their bongas. 

From t'lis time, people began to hsten to the word of 
God. Their eyes and hearts were opened and soon a large 
number asked to be instructed for l^aptism. A few months 
later, Sam had the pleasure of seeing his first class of 
catechumens baptized. In all there were fort_y souls. 

In the work of instructing tliis class as well as to shep- 
herd them afterwards, Sam has been ably assisted by Dur- 
ga and his splendid wife Raria, a graduate of our Girl's 
School at Benagaria. Shortly after their marriage; they 
were sent to Sohor to assist in the upbuilding of God's 
kingdom there. 




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THE SANTAL MISSION 
OF THE NORTHERN CHURCHES. 



The vSantal mission, as it is commonly caUed, was 
founded in the year 1867 hy two men, whose names are 
household words among the Scandinavian Lutherans, Boer- 
resen and Slcrefsrud. 

H. P. Boerresen was a native of Denmark, born in the 
city of Copenhagen, Nov. 29, 1825. His parents were poor 
laboring people and his chances to acquire an education 
were very limited. lie learned the trade of a mechanic in 
his native city and when about 27 years of age he went 
to Berlin, in Germany, to learn mechanical engineering and 
to better his conditions. 

It was while he was yet a stranger in Berlin that he 
heard his Savior's voice calling him and he received grace 
to believe that his sins were forgiven. He soon began to 
take part in the religious activities of that city and thus 
came into contact with people who were interested in mis- 
sions. Among others, he became acquainted with Mr. 
Hempel, v/hose daughter, Caroline, later became his wife. 

The marriage took place in the summer of the year 

]R0 



THE SANTAL MISSION. 



181 




H. P. BOERRESEN. 



182 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

1855. Both Boerresen and his }'oiing wife were interested 
in missions and felt called to offer themselves as workers 
in heathen lands. Their desire was to go to China, but no 
way was opened for them and several years passed. They 
had to be led through sorrow and trials before they were 
ready to say: "Lord, where thou leadest we will follow!" 

L. O. Slcrefsrud v/as born in Gudbrandsdalen, Norway, 
Febr. 4, 1840. His parents were very poor and the family 
was a large one. They were in all 9 brothers and sisters. 
His father was a shiftless man and the family often suf- 
fered want. His mother w^as a warmhearted Christian 
woman who took all her troubles to God in prayer. 

WMe 3'et a lad in his teens, Skrefsrud had to leave 
home and shift for himself. He worked for some time in 
a machine shop at I.illehammer and it was his desire to 
keep his confirmation vows and the promises he had given 
his mother on his departm'e from home. He had been 
away from home a little over a year, when he received the 
sad news that his mother was dead. This was a hard 
shock to the young man for he loved her dearly and felt 
that he had lost his best earthly friend. 

A year later he joined a highland regiment as drummer 
boy, fell into bad company, forgot his vows and lived a 
Godless life. But his mother's prayers should not remain 
imanswered. His sins found him out and he had to suffer 
bitter consequences. He was awakened to see his awful 
condition and after long struggles found peace with God. 

Simultaneous with his conversion the desire of becom- 
ing a missionary to the heathen was kindled in his heart. 
He began to study, especially languages, and to prepare 
himself for the lifework before him. At this time he lived 
in Christiania, the capital city of Norway. He had no 
money to spend for schooling but worked all day and 



THE SANTAL MISSIOX. 



18J 




184 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

studied in the evenings, receiving help now and then from 
students at the university in the city. 

In 1863 Skrefsrud applied for admission at the training 
school for missionaries, shortly before established in Stav- 
anger, but was refused. This was a great disappointment 
to him and to ease his heart he told his troubles to a 
Christian friend, Mr. Holte. This man advised him to go 
to Germany and seek admission to one of the training 
schools there. Holte also told him that one of his sons had 
just returned from Berlin and could give him directions 
about the journey and perhaps also give him letters of 
introduction to Christian friends in that city. 

Skrefsrud sought young Holte, got the desired direc- 
tions about the journey and a letter of introduction to Mr. 
and Mrs. H. P. Boerresen in Berlin. 

Skrefsrud arrived in Berlin, in the fall of 1862, and 
found the Boerresens, who were destined to become his 
friends and coworkers as long as he lived. 

For one year Skrefsrud attended the Prochnow Mis- 
sion School and on his graduation he received a call from 
the Goszner Society to join their mission to the Coles in 
Chota Nagpur, India. Before he left Berlin it was agreed 
that Boerresen and family should come out and join him 
as soon as they had disposed of their business. 

In May 1865 the Boerresens joined Skrefsrud at the 
mission station Purulia. It was a joyful meeting, but their 
joy was not to last long. A disagreement arose between 
the German and Scandinavian missionaries and the latter 
resigned their service as missionaries in the Goszner society. 
Through trials and difficulties the Lord led them His own 
way to the glory of His name. 

From Purulia thcv returned to Calcutta, where Christ- 



THE SANTAL MISSION. 



185 




186 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 

ian friends assisted them, and the Lord soon had them 
where He wished to use tliem, among the Santals. 

A September morning in 1867 these two servants of 
God gathered a few stones south of the village of Bena- 
garia in Santal Parganas where they had received some 
land from a Bengali landlord, called it their Ebenezer and 
kneeling consecrated themselves anew to God and to his 
service among the Santals. 

They had no mission society and no funds to fall back 
on, but trusted in God that He would provide for them, and 
they were not disappointed. Eoerresen had to spend a 
good deal of his time the first years in traveling about in 
India soliciting funds for tl;e mission. Skrefsrud threw 
all his energy into the study of Santali, and so great were his 
abilities as a linguist, that, after three years he published a 
Santali grammar which after having stood the test for over 
forty years, is still the standard work in that language. 

On the 28th of March 186'^> they had the great joy of 
baptizing three young men, the first fruit of their labor 
among the Santals. Forty-four years have passed since 
that joyfull event. They have been years of trials, strug- 
gles and tribulations, but also years of glorious victories 
When Boerresen on the 21st of September 1901 was called 
home to his rest not only a Christian community of 13,000 
souls but even the heathen Santals, Hindus and Moham- 
medans, who had come in contact with his great,, warm 
heart, mourned his departure. 

On December 11th, 1910 when Skrefsrud passed away 
^fter an illness of nearly two years the Santal church had 
a membership of over 15,000 souls. 

At the time of writing this little historical sketch the 
membership has risen to about 17,000, and the work is 
growing a steady and healthy growth. 



THE SANTAL MISSION, 187 

It was the hope of the founders of the mission that the 
funds for its support should he raised in India, therefore 
they called it "The Indian Home Mission to the Santals." 
After Skrefsruds death the mission was reorganized and 
now bears the name found at the head of this chapter. It 
is supported by contributions from friends in Norway, 
Denmark and America. Each of these countries have a 
comittee which together with the trustees of the mission 
are responsible for the continuation of the work. 

Until today the Lord has helped, and may we not rest 
assured that He will continue to help his servants until 
the last battle is won ? For he is faithful that promised. 






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